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Sunday, April 13, 2014

One Last Cup

Napowrimo Day Eleven - Write an anacreon -- Named after an early Greek poet who wrote mainly about the muses, and wine and song, though not to the point of bacchanalia.  Although 'lyrical' and 'elegance' have been used to describe his work, the one poem I saw in translation was almost as
light as the old Burma Shave ditties of years gone by.

Being an afficianado of song, though not of wine, this assignment challenges me to find something to say that 'works..' Mid-night wakefulness finds me penning praise of the cup, though not the song:

One Last Cup

I rise. Solitary, I rise,
by the morn's early light,
solitary, I repair
to the solitude of my kitchen,
surreptitious, for this cup
of singular delight.
Seven are the ingredients,
I add them just so;
each one in right proportion --
though who is to know?
No man to chide me,
no woman beside me
contends with the content
of this matchless cup,
its warmth conspiring to fill me up.
Then it's Drink! to the promise of morning,
aye, drink to the comforts of night.
Though my pillow still pleads
as its own warmth recedes,
ramen shall be my delight.
                         -- Shirley Smith Franklin

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