Letter to J. Gielgud
Majestic lion,your breath more bewitching
than the cry of a thousand sirens
in the Nordic sea.
The time has come.
I call to you across the unfathomable
distances of the endlessly dark.
Can you hear me?
I cannot remember a time when I
did not know your voice.
Your art surpassed them all -
and your being.
Fragile Feanor of the stage - you
shone as a score of souls crammed
into a single container of flesh.
Dear sir, Prospero of old.
Tough and brave and cold.
I would have suffered a thousand deaths
to have shared your time on this earth.
Poetry by An-ders
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2010-01-10 at 14:18
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