.

Will this reclaim the long-lost Muse
perched on the tree of I.O.U.’s?

Can I now join Miss E. B. Browning
as she proclaimed her love—its counting?

Her art’s not mine; I know that much.
The years sped by—as if by touch!

And each day’s love was multiplied
until its mass could burst outside,

propel itself beyond the skies
and thank the Lord where He abides,

for fifty years “through thick and thin,”
each one ordained and blessed by Him.

.

.

Johanna Donovan is a transplanted Swiss now growing in New England who gets up to write.


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12 Responses

    • jd

      Thank you, Michael. I’m a bit rusty on classical
      poetry (on any, for that matter) so I was happy
      for the push.

      Reply
  1. Daniel Kemper

    It reminds me of when I passed the practical age where at I could never have a fiftieth anniversary. And I thought of John Gardner’s Grendel. Outside Hrothgar’s Hall. Listening to The Shaper.

    Reply
    • jd

      Hello Daniel,

      I’m gratified it sent you on a little trip and
      provided me with some things to research.
      Thank you for your visit and for commenting.

      Reply
  2. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Johanna, I love the smooth flowing wit of your poem, but more, much more than that, I adore the sentiment. Beautiful!

    Reply
    • jd

      Thank you so much, Susan. My poem is
      honored by compliments from a very
      talented and prolific member of the Society.

      Reply

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