Sunday, November 11, 2012


Yes, every poet needs a Beatrice,
An angel hailed with an iambic kiss,

A spectral love lost in the mists of time,
A muse saluted with nostalgic rhyme,

A saintly soul with sweet compassionate eyes
Whom lovestruck sonneteers must canonize,

An icon greeted with a swinging thurible
Of lyric incense and longing incurable.

But if by chance his verse she could peruse,
She'd cringe to read his praises, so profuse!

She'd think, "Such terrible clich├ęs! Why can't he
Give it a rest? He's certainly no Dante!"

1 comment:

Chadesh Yameinu

I listen to your music in March--- fittingly, as your name, Aviva, means springtime . Let the sun see you , your voice urges. Your ...