I remember, Rae, from our: I remember, Rae, from our many email conversations how you often asked questions for me to ponder rather than just make outright assertions. And you do that in this poem . . . questions are left open for the reader to ponder.
Please forgive me for yet: Please forgive me for yet another failure to reply timely to a comment, and then the discovery of my failure years later. I apologize deeply for this failure to acknowledge your kindness, and I hope you can forgive my ineptness.
Your perceptive reading: Your perceptive reading always gets to the heart of what is being read! Thank you so much for sounding out matters of the heart and the metamorphosis that it undergoes. Steadfastness is not often found nor easily expressed. That was the main challenge and continues to be a feature of writing over decades of life experience and maturing. May the adventures continue on!
Thank you kindly, Starward.: Thank you kindly, Starward. It is with great pleasure to receive your feedback, particularly the link between music and poetry that has been asserted here. There are some things that have to be physically shouted out while others just the mere putting to words is enough expression. If that makes any sense. Again, my gratitude.
Rae, how could I have failed: Rae, how could I have failed to comment on this very earliest poem of yours on PostPoems? I see that even Afzaul Shaq managed to comment (and also, as was customary, to insert an allusion to his political beliefs). I am sorry I let you down by failing to visit this poem in a timely manner. I hope that, now in Heaven, you have some idea of how much I miss you, and that I am truly sorry for failing to comment on your earliest poem.
Rae, you left us a bit too: Rae, you left us a bit too soon---but I speak that from your absence that pains my heart, and not from a defiance of the decision of Christ to call you to His eternal home, which He now shares with you, among the stars. I look forward to meeting you in person when I arrive there, perhaps even sooner than I think. As I write this, I borrow a concept from T. S. Eliot who wrote after the passing of the novelist Charles Williams that Heaven seemed more real now that Williams was there; and I thought that exact thought, just a moment ago. I even felt I could see its starlit edges in that brilliant cerulean color I believe it to have. I hope that whoever might read this comment in passing might visit your poems on comment on them more up to date than the present comments on them are.
I thank you that when the interloper, who so often back then tried to "ride my coattails," inserted himself into our conversations, you treated him with the compassion that I felt he no longer deserved. You were a better Christian then than I am now.
An astonishing metamorphosis: An astonishing metamorphosis of the heart: I can feel the swelling inner triumph, the resolve, in the first stanza that gives way to the undeniable truth, expressed with tremors of emotion and showers of beauty, in the second. Your cunning imagery makes it an extraordinary adventure.
Stunning!
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