25th April  2016


A small tribute to the man who first instilled in me, the love of language.

 Crook of back was he, my first love;
hatchet-nosed, withered of hand
slumped of shoulder. lank of hair
drooped of eye and deformed of leg.

A gross spider of a man whose
grating voice, impassioned by hate
spat forth staccato words,
each a knife wound to the heart.

Spellbound by my darkling king
spouting Machiavellian schemes
with smirking, lick-lip relish
my winter was made glorious summer..

 I was in love - with Shakespeare

and Olivier

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