Carolyn Devonshire
I almost thought she was the one that made
Neil Diamond sings like a confetti parade
You know that sweet Carolyn thing, why not
She has the warmest soul, this sweet griot
This investigator of mysteries, and writer
Of myth and pale anthropological history
This lady, this encourager, this fresh sister
That brings a solace to each swift anxiety
This humanitarian, this dreamer, this friend
I say nothing when I read her poems again
Lest words reduce her to something defined
For words only say correctly that she is kind
And she drives the land from post to post
Bringing care and playing nurse and host
To every prayer balming pain, to each need
That plays her like winds play a reed
And make her sing her gentleness, sweet
And succulent songs, darling of gentleness
God, how your love in human form bleat
With ravishing light, and milky tenderness.
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