Ode To My Nightingale Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Ode To My Nightingale



And so you were
my Belle Dame

Avec
Merci.

And I the teenage boy
of then

learning my first Keats
longing for the lines

to come true
and that I too would be

pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast
to feel for ever its soft fall and swell

& so here you are
at long last


all so deliciously
Keatsean.

Sunday, November 15, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: longing,ode
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Dónall Dempsey

Dónall Dempsey

Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.
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