On Wordsworth

songs of bold heroes
may sing to me,
though ring to me
of mendacity
whereas in his pure
and lilting lines
those simple rhymes
lie honesty

The Feather

in the greenwood wandering
I came upon the sight
of a new bird, late in winter
bravely taking flight
and then a breath of virgin down
flit dancing from the sky
into my waiting open hand
I cannot but wonder why
the elements upon this day
should have been so kind
to present me this remembrance
a gift upon the wind.

Lines on Keats

to love’s beauty
his silent lyrics paid
a fealty beyond gold
on his head
the gods had laid
a soul no man could hold.