Enter dark and gloomy space

Behold the shrine that lies within

Upon a linen shroud displayed

The story of a man akin

   to hero, artist, player, sage

Whose words lay glowering on the page

Observe the leaves of genius gift

Inscribed with thoughts and dreams adept

   enough to dwell upon the stage

Before the hordes, who laughed and wept

   with joy and sorrow, whilst his words

   brought forth the swipe of sacred swords

Beyond the great tome’s ancient pelt

A Candlestick, light’s gilded tower

And form of bone, as played the role

   in Hamlet, as its finest hour

An artist thus inclined to view

Must surely find a heady brew

And so he views this poignant shrine

   of treasures filled with memories

With knowledge that such potency

    instils persuasive reveries

 To Cezanne’s muse, a simplistic

Still Life, With Skull and Candlestick