67: Dickens, 1990, by Peter Ackroyd (1949–)
I was reading all of Dickens’ books
When I found this and read in awe
As Ackroyd seemed to craft new law
For lush biography. His hooks
Were fastened deep in me as I
Read page by page in this account
(And watched the many pages mount!)—
And ended all with such a sigh
Of admiration—and regret.
The book was done! There was no more!
(Well, as they say, what’s heaven for?!?)
I felt as if I’d really met
Him—Charles Dickens, in the flesh.
The book was so alive—so rich.
Oh, yes, a writer can bewitch
When talent, art, and research mesh.
No comments:
Post a Comment