I had a dream a Chaucer last night,

Although I couldn’t remember the deets.

I just remember some moments,  

It was only us, no Whitman or Keats.

 

So, when I awoke this morning,

I started searching online for some news.

I thought I better channel some Freud,

Maybe he could help me shake my blues.

 

Imagine my wondering eyes,

When I learned some things today.

Chaucer was the father of English poetry.

He never let other things get in the way.

 

Poetry was his only objective,

He didn’t try to judge others and such,

Never seeking to direct, the order of men,

Moral reform didn’t appeal to him much.

 

It’s funny that I dreamed of someone.

That I’ve only heard English books tell.

Why would an old dude enter my space,

What is the universe trying to yell?

 

Perhaps it is wanting me to focus,

On my own gift of writing this time.

Perhaps leave the moral, directing to others

And deal with gods and heroes in my rhymes.

 

©2023 Marsha L. Brown