William married you on this date, 1582.
Eight years older, you seemed much wiser.
Later, you just seemed much older.
He to London. You with the kids.
I hope you had a beautiful garden.
(Sometime after their twins were born, William Shakespeare moved to London to pursue an acting career and only came back to Anne in Stratford occasionally. She never visited him in London. The couple spent most of the rest of their marriage apart, but Shakespeare moved back to Stratford when he retired from the stage, and they spent the last six years of his life together. She is buried next to him in the Church of the Holy Trinity in Stratford.)
One leaves us by his own hand.
One that loved wisely but too well.
To sleep, when peaceful dreams may come.
May. If so, he knows. For us,
there’s tomorrow, and hopefully tomorrow, and tomorrow.
A day full of my stupid errors.
Wrong turns, forgotten items, an appointment missed.
Senior moments tick tocking into minutes, hours.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?
No comedy, no humor, no happy ending.
Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing 1786, William Blake
Shakespeare made this magical night for lovers
dreaming foolishly amongst fairies, but Saint John,
patron saint of beekeepers, protected full hives,
mead to drink, a honey moon night
not long but setting many cradles rocking.
Reading Shakespeare for seven-word lines of ronka.
No legacy is so rich as honesty,
fits the glovemaker’s writing hand nicely but
The course of true love never did run
reminds that things are not always smooth.