You shape and play the language with skilled hands,
unfailing love, keen wit; you've studied well
the diligence of spiders, how they spin
instinctive models of geometry:
a rhetoric of gossamer and silence
that stays composed in the brunt of battering gusts.
The stentor is the desperate counterfeit:
but your lines walk in steadiness and poise;
your poems speak; they do not rant or blare.
You gladden us who hear and read your words;
your humor, charity, and native grace
all quietly excel the commonplace.
Imperishable joy! Yes, art's the thing--
and we are lucky to be listening.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
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Written on 2018-01-08 at 07:57
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