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.