Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey

 

The cold stone eyes of penmen past

now focused on eternity and last

things . . . do you still feel the thrill

of your words? Do your hearts echo again,

somewhere, somehow, forever (or until

all books are dust, and all men

are deaf and dead), and do you know

now what your words whispered hard

into your ears, and even though

you strained against your chains and toward

the light beyond the words, your pens

went still, and death evaporated that horde

of visions and hopes and dreams, and then

my eyes were left to touch your dreams again.

 

 

© Michael Fleming

London, England

December 1982

 

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