Thursday, June 23, 2011

For Beth, An Italian Sonnet Cut Short

The world existed for her to devour;
Great Venus’ beauty put by hers to shame,
Nimble Reatha, lovely dancing flame
That only rested for two fleeting hours.

A child of speed, frivolity, a miss
Whose intellect and talent were unique;
Fast living cast a shadow on her cheek,
And Death placed on her brow a morbid kiss.

Barbara! We should have had much more
But you were harvested before your prime;
You remain a victim of your time,
An early casualty in stardom’s war.

Barbara LaMarr

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