For the Muse-Touchèd Souls

It seem’st that from the stars, he shines ‘pon thee,
O gentle chann’ler of the poet’s muse;
a halo ‘pon thy brow -- by most unseen
for dusty words do oft their minds confuse.

Them -- I speak of groundlings, eas’ly captured
their minds enchanted by patches of skin,
with children’s charms their minds lost, enraptured,
simple minds not comprehending sin.

Dear poet, artist, I beg’st thee -- still shine
and breathe God’s love into the agèd words;
Shut thine ears when the unenlightened whine,
thine thoughts are rich, not fodder for the herds.

And, perhaps, when beneath the sod you lay
thy dusty words will see the light of day.

for K.H.
Ms. Condor Pride 2009