Wokingham and Venice
(Petrarchan and English sonnets)
In Wokingham where charming little red
Brick houses decorated with cream stone
Maintain the quintessential, modest tone
Of English towns, a quiet A to Zed
Of quaintest understatement, I just found
A book about Venetian glass. Its grace
Is like a conquered scimitar or lace
Burano made. The city’s charms abound,
Especially on the Grand Canal where time
.(The centuries washed by waves) refuses to
..Allow the loveliness to dissipate
…Despite the scars, the leprosy, and grime
….Venetians seem to prize in every view,
…..An ancient queen who will not abdicate.
Where Wokingham has charming well-kempt red
Brick houses decorated with cream stone,
Where little of old English charm has fled
Away, I find a volume on the blown
Glass gracefulness Venetian lungs have made
For centuries. Italian lips have forced
An elegance as lovely as the blade
Of scimitar the city crushed. Divorced
This market town and merchant city are
Not. One is mild like a gentleman’s suit,
The other shocking, lovely, on a par
With nothing else, its flourish absolute—
A man in understated russet tweed,
La donna no one’s beauty could exceed.