Memory Poem by Richard Henry Wilde Dillard

Now, Julie, at last, you know "what kingdoms
Come," farewells past, wary to the end, but took
Too long, who, like Adam, knew the names
Of things so well, "lilac, forsythia, orange,
Sharon rose," whom T.R. taught bone's dance,
In turn so many taught to sing that tune,
Argued with Wordsworth, also everyone else,
Old crank, plagued by demon alcohol, older,
More dangerous demons, too, led hurt, wounded
Young into that dark, "You are a poet," once
To bright student, "God help you," but did not,
Injured yourself, know how deep the shadow
Cast, so smart, unaware, tough, ambitious, then
Told by editor, too old, poetry is for the young,
Yet hard lines, bare words, incantatory, strong,
Those poems remain, alone, God help you, yes.