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Dedication to Franklin Sterling—
“Dear Friend, we must resume
Our ‘Poetic Tasks,’
Well enough to dispel
Dark World of Masks!
I don’t drink Corona;
Nor any like intoxicator.
Simply, do I not imbibe!
Neither breathe I, the
spores of c-o-v-nineteen.
How mean, how diabolic is it,
When tiny festooned
Tumble-weeds slide in
for a visit.
‘Neath door sill or wainscot,
What e’er you’ve got –
Ah, ‘this too shall pass,’
As the Holiest would say.
So true, so unkind;
That our brain outpaceth
The higher mind:
(“Must I shrink from Copper, Air, or Steel?”)
T’were home to microbes, you feel)
Then above th’eternal soul doth,
Chuckling softly above this
Earthly fray –
like a soft Ghost swathed
in fine-spun cloth,
Assure us all
We await a fresh
New Day!!
