The spangle of stars

“I set no store by the spangle of stars
nor by the boundless sea     nor earth    nor stone
the wrack of summer spoils is all too swift
the worm that hides within the apple core
the rose that withers
                            ere you close an eye.”
Patsy puts down her fork and thinks anon.
“Seems,” she says, “that thou hast taken a puff
Shakespearean turn that does sit ill with
your accustomed style.       I’ll wager you have
lost your carefully carved Carrara marb-
les and art in need of rest in a dark
chamber.” In the house that Jack built there is
much mirth and banter of this ilk     to strike
against the sadness
                          of our mortal fate.

John Lyons

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