Sonnet for Shylah

Shyla cocoonSonnet for Shylah

While Shylah rocks, cocooned within her sleep

what dreams are viewed inside her tiny head?

With all her world of warmth she snuggles, deep,

how near or far from heaven is her bed? 

What are such flights for dreamy baby girl?

She wanders far in whirls of silken trees.

She floats ‘oer hills where wing`ed fairies swirl.

She’s flung, aloft, amid a lilac’s sneeze.

A whispered tease from nature tweaks her nose

as drifting now, meanders forth the breeze.

The lark will pause to serenade this rose.

On wings of praise, shared notes with nature freeze

in awe.  They halt before their song begins:

it’s Shylah’s hushed, small breath they must attend.

Lady Lincoln

Mary Lincoln

“Lady Lincoln”

I keep my fashion as Lady Godey;

my family, aristocratic, lean

and with my many suitors, life is gay

but Lincoln’s borrowed horse not what they dream.

My people pray he is a fading fad;

no life or love with Abraham they deem.

And all historians who cast me ‘mad’;

their hatefulness a jealous motive seem.

The one great truth through all our misery:

a melancholia treads through our past

and not with lies of Herndon’s history.

With love was Mr. Lincoln and I cast.

I cry from out my grave so all may hear:

we are a pair, devout; to each, hold dear!