Poetry from NHI publications

A Tribute to Shakespeare
Shakespeare, we know: we, what it feels like; you,
      what it speaks like. Words, in your younger year,
were frank, a man's, true as a child's are true,
      spontaneous, emotional, and sincere.
Grown skeletal, distracted, old, we speak
       a limping line; by a cold fire, sing
a tuneless song, brittle, confused, and weak;
       talk cerebral — closed fast by death's dream ring.
The fire's cold. The snows of Age are falling.
      The latch is open. Love has gone away.
Through the dark night, the songs of Avon calling,
      sing, sing! Where are the songs of Yesterday?
           Through dreams of Youth, the facts intrude, obtrude;
           dry, gnarled, too near the skin, the bones protrude.
New Hope International New Series #3

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