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If William Shakespeare were alive tonight 
What season’s sight would he seek to spy? 
The summer insect’s soft mating light? 
The Perseids’ diamonds in an ebon sky? 
What would you choose who read these quiring lines? 
The gentle dance that leads to things begun? 
Or skyward turn in northern climes 
To glance a meteor so quickly done? 
They so excite us, draw us. They are so rare, 
That we will wait and wait to see just one. 
So, will you stay and stare and stay and stare
To glimpse the bright ephemeral, here and gone? 
Or rather that which nourishes the heart— 
The gentle glimmer of an insect’s start?

Published in Prospectus: A Literary Offering, November 27, 2020

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