Ode to Poets
When I was a cynic, I always had sarcasm
and Ben Johnson, the king of cynics
But then his best piece of poetry died
When he broke, I shattered
Donne nodded in agreement, the bell tolling for us all.
So I took refuge in Dickinson's eternal
home of solitude. We brethren are
scared to be remembered as hollow men.
But Yeats rescued me from Eliot's land
and brought me to a winding stair we climbed together for a long time
Though Plath kept me company in the darkest corners
I crawled out from under the bell jar
to another road...
Now my heart dances with Wordsworth
in the daffodils, in the company
I am Shakespeare's dark lady
Mary Oliver's soft animal
These familiar souls wrote it down
in hundreds of lines (I read between)
They are my oldest friends
as I am yours.
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