Shelley who labored to give us
The genius of his shivers
And aspirations
We thank.
But tell us about the rarest gifts
That were denied us dues to your genius
To stare at the sun,
Freeze a smile, and a longing
Into the cell of words
Which we hear with ears that are in part
Closed.
Alas, it is only you, Shelley
Who can truly have and know this poem.
It is not honestly ours by birth.
And as visitors, we stand apart
Even though you generously tried to share it.