Katurie

A poet in his tower sat

And poetized and things like that;

His wife, Katurie, down below,

Sat late of nights to darn and sew.

The neighbors praised the poet’s rhyme,

And thus he fooled away his time;

And while he lived in realms of muse,

Katurie shined his Sunday shoes.

The poet gazed across each slope

Which were his father’s pride and hope,

Grown now to underbrush and weeds –

Katurie grew her garden needs.

The poet dwelt in higher spheres,

Earth’s discords never reached his ears;

When swine or fowl raised hunger’s call

Katurie fed them one and all.

The poet raved o’er moon and star,

And sent his verses near and far;

“What genius,” all the neighbors said,

They never praised her cakes or bread.

The poet died, was laid away

Forgotten though ‘twere yesterday.

Katurie prospers all alone –

She has to work for only one.

June 9, ‘09