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.
