cry the wounds of an age
pushed on pages by pens
that forget when the gold
ring of language drew
gleaming king’s english from
inkpots where schoolboys
found grammars of words
turned and tugged into
metaphors bristling with
quotable clarity singing
with syntax that Donne
might have taken his pause
for brief moment to taste
with that eloquent tongue
– Paul F. Lenzi
http://poesypluspolemics.com/