Yeats at his prayers
A poet wrote a
poem for old age
words spoken from upon a stage
a rhymer without a thing in his
head
he said
but he was more than that
cast hobbling
just any street knave
a pauper without purse
unafraid
dogs didn’t bark
roots shivered
trees moved birds yearned
cloaked him in velvet
a plume in his hat
Merlin returned to life
they dance together in the glade
youth and beauty courage and cheer
full of marrow
time will chew
bones they’ll strew
Spartan supple
Athenian able
banquets by the lake
he remembers Excalibur
her hand holding a sword
its hilt held high
from
transparent
water
Camelot
Dick Russell
copyright © 2017
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