Impish Delights
By: Sultana Raza
(Christmas Eve. John Keats's tiny room in Rome. John is alone and has passed out after a bout of coughing. Tom Keats joins him in his dream. They take turns to recite these words).
Who'd remember these miniatures rich?
Horse's hairy tail who dared to pull?
Would lost pictures Granny's sharp needle ever stitch?
Mixed up four hues of Gran's prized wool?
Grubby little snails in shoes who stored?
Treacle in sleepy ears who liked to pour?
Of insects dead, had the scariest hoard?
Hide naughty pails over innocent door?
Grandpa's gruff boots, who'd misplace?
Crash biscuit tins, disturb deserved rest?
Who'd steal sniffs from his tobacco case?
Granny's grand patience who liked to test?
Drove to distraction, his mother dear.
Children whose chuckles once counted four,
Pride glowed in her eyes, when were still clear,
With birthday songs when their voices would soar.
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