The 'charcoal' Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Charcoal

It is called "Valentine, "
Chosen day to show love.

Sure, as hell I do not
Like the one I talk of.

Duty orders me:
"Be mute or talk right."

I cannot brush all
Good and bad under rug.

D. Scott was writer,
Is one of known poets,
But a racist, villain.

In him I, see two sides.

Like his "Song, " as poem,
Do admit: "Is great, "
"I HAVE done,
Put by the lute;
Songs and singing soon are over,
Soon as airy shades that hover
Up above the purple clover—
I have done, put by the lute.
Once I sang as early thrushes
Sing about the dewy bushes,
Now I'm mute;
I am like a weary linnet,
For my throat has no song in it,
I have had my singing minute.
I have done,
Put by the lute."

But still, to me he,
Cannot be loveable, even with:
"Now she had found her hero,
And offered her body and spirit
With abject unreasoning passion,
As Earth abandons herself
To the sun and the thrust of the lightning, "