She crippled me with her words,

as cool as she pleased.

Her nouns and verbs stung me,

like limbs by bees.

Elegant narratives,

were like a heart-to-heart.

It was a literary love,

from the very start.

She taught me to dream,

it was in the reach of my arms.

And making me believe,

that was part of her charm.

She had a poetic arrogance, modest vanity.

But did her haughtiness offend me?

No, I don’t believe.

Not perfect in any sense,

though better than me.

She was a phenomenal woman,

phenomenally.

She juked, she jived,

her locution thrived.

Brought about the caged bird,

through song it cried.

Early days knocked her down,

but still she rised.

And now she’s the free bird,

an angel of the skies.

Her poetry lives on,

ecstasy it supplies.

Now soaring through the clouds,

she flies,

she flies,

she flies.