When I study Poets
who passed their hours
in passion, peace
and quiet thoughts-
Who spun their words
from sylvan towers
and sat at ease
in flowered courts.

Or in Amherst hurt
the single girl
who pressed against
her windowpanes-
While a thousand
hours alone unfurled
her heart commenced
to pen the rains.

I'm juxtaposed
by vanished stars
who scribbled into a
scrolling sky-
Their elegant prose
and lovely scars
speak forever; they
can never die.