Should be a rare,
Interminably long, epic poem
placed in your talent quadrant
So you become a fine-oiled machine
On autopilot.

You perform by rote with ultimate emotion
Working in all the arts.
It is perfection when nothing
Goes wrong because it has in the past.

The juice never runs dry, it bubbles up
Like the finest champagne
In every corpuscles.

The Fates chose you.
You can’t say no.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 22, 2018