Sitting in Michael's Lap
I wonder if you ever shook your head,
Amused at how you thought I might react
To some uncanny thing you chanced to see
That made you think of me. Some quirky fact,
Or silly joke you thought would make me smile,
If I were there to hear. Am I unreal,
A vision in the air or something less
Substantial, that I cannot hope to feel
Or to be felt? I'll not pretend to know;
What claim have I to expertise in hearts?
That mine was oft the victim? Such renown
Holds little of redemption – it imparts
No wisdom in such things to try, but fail –
Nor does the logic render it more plain.
Shall I expect the stuff of dreams, or might
It better serve to trust in only pain?
In idle musings, hid behind the smiles,
A space of breath can close a thousand miles.
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest
[This message has been edited by Skyfyre (edited 02-14-2000).]