Regarding An Easter Bonnet.

A year has passed since he was last

beneath her Roman garden borne:

twelve moons in shadow have been cast

and gently, stirred leaves on the lawn.

*

Reborn, he found myself no more

alone among the crowd, but perched

at the toes of her piano:  

the prelude to their coupled verse.

*

In Edinburgh – her name revealed –

Rolled the stone, strolled royal miles.

Then, still, before Ross fountain, spilled

words and wishes; kisses; smiles.

*

Durham – sweet Durham’s river clear –

where dreams are dreamt and soaps gifted,

carillon bells peal out the year,

and the lovers’ hearts are lifted.

*

The morning sun on York Minster,

is risen; I grind; robust; sanguine.

I turn and bite my thumb at Caesar.

“Your voice falls hollow to my Queen.”

*

*

[a nod toward the bard is made: R&J; A1 S1]

3 thoughts on “Regarding An Easter Bonnet.

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