Rite of the Old Dancer
Take me from the backyard
Of the stars,
For I am cuckoo
Sailing abandoned oceans.
I would rather Verona,
Where I could survive
Like a soldier from Sparta,
Although today I am startled.
On Sundays I take Chinese tea,
Thinking of women in the galleries of fine art.
They are younger than I
(Historic, tiresome and fool)
But I would approach them
Muttering I know Andre Derain.
There is no sun in the galleries,
And they are closed on Mondays,
And the art does not sting
Like a separate darkness.
This is great! May I quote it on my blog with credit to you?