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RARE MEETING
Walking along a misty road,
I met them all, one by one,
Keats with his Fanny Brawn,
Shakespeare's Hamlet with his sword.
I met Heathcliff on the Yorkshire hill,
Met him and Katherine Earnshaw,
Met Edgar Linton at Thrushcross,
Amid the moors where life was still.
I shook hands with Shelley too,
And Milton in his blindness' hue,
I had a chat with Ophelia,
Right where the grass green grew.
I met my friends of the poetic realm,
Enjoyed the moments, knowing not when,
I would be shaken back to this hollow den,
Where many lie with the help of a pen.
I walked along the stretching shore,
Engulfed like a drop by the water store,
I looked inside myself and thought,
What I had gained, what I had lost.
I picked a sand grain and found a world,
Far and deep in the wind I hurled,
My own fate and my own goals,
Looking for one who my soul stole.
