I’ve met a dead poet.
I’m sure you’ve read a few, but this one haunts me.
Do they haunt you too?
I call her “Lizzie” and the name suits her well,
a Victorian Poet with a story to tell.
Her voice is distinctive, lusty, and low.
The voice of a crone who died years ago.
We collided one night as the stars realigned,
two aspiring poets, immersed in our rhymes.
She’d started a poem some eons ago,
but her ‘nary and tarry’ made the going quite slow.
So, we bickered and tinkered with rhyme and verse.
We bellowed and brawled and then we rehearsed.
The poem came forth as I took center stage,
reading aloud as the audience engaged.
As the curtain closes, let me bring this back around
and acknowledge all dead poets for their rhythm, rhyme, and sound.
As for you dear reader, beware the hauntings of the night,
when the stars realign and dead poets reunite!
Post Script: A link to our poem here, enjoy “The Path”.