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Shadrach O’Leary
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Shadrach O’Leary

O’Leary was a poet – for a while:
He sang of many ladies frail and fair,
The rolling glory of their golden hair,
And emperors extinguished with a smile.

They foiled his years with many an ancient wile,
And if they limped, O’Leary didn’t care:
He turned them loose and had them everywhere,
Undoing saints and senates with their guile.

But this was not the end. A year ago
I met him – and to meet was to admire:
Forgotten were the ladies and the lyre,

And the small, ink-fed Eros of his dream.
By questioning I found a man to know –
A failure spared, a Shadrach of the Gleam.
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