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At A Young Girl's Reading Certain Poems
I wish that I had been the inspiration
for such a poet's devoted adoration,
to have enjoyed his splendid delectation
in me, expressed in perfect sublimation.
But she, who brought him to such sheer elation,
left in her fleeing wake such devestation
by which a lesser soul might be destroyed:
frigid it was, shadowed, ghostly and stark,
and might have left a predatory mark.
Safe in the faith, as I am, he deployed
his words toward her, but not as imprecation
(as in a lesser reader's expectation):
rather his poems became witnesses of
her callous loss of his unswerving love.
Starward
