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Monday, 9 January 2012


While looking at Shakespeare's tombstone
I suddenly see a tree of words
Sprouting out of his ashes!
Oh, how many flowers of sonnets and songs
Are blooming merrily on its branches!
How many fairies, sprites and muses
Have perched upon it as singing birds,
While subdued sighs are being heard
From the rustling of its leaves.
And then I feel his gaze upon me!
Yes, he is looking through that slab
At the sky and surroundings
With a childlike curious twinkle
Full of wonder in his hazel eyes,
And he gazes at me as he would at his 'Miranda'!
Oh, just then come a horde of critics,
Who start debating in rusty tones
Whether he really was 'a man of all ages'!
He then slyly smiles at me,
-Yes, he really winks at me!-
And then turns upon his side
And goes back to sleep again
Listening to the lullaby of Avon's undercurrent.
        -Autumn Eliza