To The Bard

Busiest of noble employments
Was without doubt that of your fruitful Muse;
Her value unmeasured in pounds or pence
Or other currency that most men use.

What common scale can measure gems so rare
As those that flow with grace of silken hems?
Those sonnets that you left for us to share
Like blood red buds upon a loden stem

That move our humble minds to greater heights
And lead our laden psyches to run free.
Your name will ever  edge the page with lights
we will forever seek your fluency.

If you, Great Bard, loved fully as you wrote
Then Anne most surely hummed a happy note.

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