Autobiography

The sun has set this flaming day.
(That verse was penned by E. Millay.)
The snow fall's soft; the pony's lost.
(That stanza's famous: Robert Frost.)

When I would plumb the Soul's dim core,
It's Henley's, glimpsed from foreign shore.
And when the seas my thoughts immersed,
I find that Masefield got there first.

England fair or murder foul?
I'm shrouded deep in Shakespeare's cowl.
And Love's warm whisper, sweet and clear?
Then Barrett-Brownings' voice I hear.

I know no single verse unversed,
No ode uncoded, curse uncursed.
There's just one realm whose bard I be:
The expert's I; the subject's me.

Frances Shaine
1929 - 2008