Posted by Admin on 25 June 2006, 12:00 am
Contemplative by casement seated,
Selina’s crescent form his Muse,
Pierrot by harsh life defeated,
butt of Harlequin’s abuse,
longs to play more gallant roles –
hates his ‘talent to amuse’.
Spectral white his clown’s attire,
save for pom-poms and skull-cap,
black as these his thoughts most dire,
reliving every baton slap.
At his nadir this clear night,
thwarted love must aye repine,
mourning loss of love’s delight –
the scorn of heartless Columbine.
And black as widow’s weeds
Grimalkin with the glow-worm eyes
keeps guard beside his chair.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
This work may not be reproduced without prior permission of the author.
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