Hail poetry, thou heav’n born maid
O poem, where are you?
Here I am with subject full in my face:
a dogged wasp climbs the window
only to slide back to the start
on slick newly shined glass
to start again … and start again…
But words have gone missing,
coyly hiding from me
and no poem comes near.
The title comes from The Pirates of Penzance – four lines from WS Gilbert set to the glorious harmonies of Arthur Sullivan – sung by a quartet all kneeling in homage to poetry.
Hail, Poetry, thou heav’n-born maid!
Thou gildest e’en the pirate’s trade.
Hail flowing font of sentiment
All hail, all hail. Divine emollient!
The prompt, to address a poem, is for day 15 Napowrimo, but I’m all behind.