Nancy L. Meek
Pluck the bones from the poet’s dust.
Sift the ashes for nougats rare.
Steal the cold cadaver’s jewels
For he is gone too long to care.
Probe his essence, if you must,
Clamped beneath the censor’s scope.
Examine closely with the rouge
And hearken with the stethoscope.
Pity follows the pirate’s lust
For scavenging a minstrel’s chest.
Although long dead, on lives the muse,
The jewels, the pools, the poet’s best!
©Copyright 2000 by Nancy L. Meek
Author’s Note: It is odd how a poet’s work will not be valued fully until after he is dead and gone from this life. And even then, it is also odd how his/her work will be picked apart and examined to discover what he/she is trying to say. Critics will follow the poet even after the poet is dead and long gone and cannot defend his thoughts. They will steal his thoughts, giving them new meanings. I composed this one with that in mind…