Milton, We Have Need

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

He lives in realms of poetry.  He sleeps

When others are awake.  He writes when they

Are having nightmares, nightmares in the deeps

Of prose-filled dreams.  Their Monday is a day

Without the moons of Keats and Shelley, light

Dimmed down for Oberon.  Midsummer nights

For others are committee meetings.  Blight

Across their hours is in computer bytes

They slog through.  Puck is nowhere in their hearts.

There never have been fairies in their lives.

Not even jesters come except in parts

In TV skits.  Such living never jives.

  He walks with Homer, Aristophanes

    And Shakespeare.  They are what his twilight sees.