Tonight's Poet Corner: Stonehenge

Stonehenge
by Belinda Roddie

We wrote sonnets on Summer Solstice,
sipped shandies and sparkling wine,
and danced to our own soliloquys.

For our hearts were too shy to join
in the sunset choir, and our eyes shone
quiet gold even though we averted them
to the poppies growing around our bare toes.

I've never been a stellar poet - I've only known
how to bluff and rhyme too much, but you
saw through my facade and enjoyed the
presence of the person behind the performance.

How many fireflies can we count before
they turn into glass under the moon?
And how many mirrors can we ignore
before the reflection from the lake reminds us
of how little time we have left here?

I was thirty-two years young. I told stories

like a sage. Yet you stirred my youth

into the last dregs of your flattening drink

and toasted to our stubborn survival.