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He reads Shakespeare
Even in the early mornings
When I am serene in dreams
He's there, by the window,
Sunlight emblazoned on his face.
He wakes me at dawn,
With his soft voice
As he richly recites A Midsummer Night's Dream:
'For ought that I could ever read
Could ever hear by talk or story,
The course of true love never did run smooth.'
I cannot recall anymore than that
Because as he finishes,
I am already lost in him.
He glances at me with those gentle orbs of light
Smiles reassuringly, and I fall
So deeply into the mask of enigma he provides.
He speaks to me when I close my eyes
The words trailing off into a world beyond my grasp
And I am left ~ to contemplate
Over the facts that fuddle my marred mind
He is so fascinatingly fickle
With his Shakespeare
And those eyes
that burn so intensely.
Delwen Doyle
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Delwen Doyle
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