The Aura of Laura

[Leanne]

For forty years he wrote his life away
and pined in pen for love he’d never own,
yet through his words has Laura’s legend grown
to goddess, at the sonnet’s apogée.
Did she exist? No man could ever say,
yet Petrarch did, with every inky moan,
create from her his lovely laurel throne --
and truth should not lead pretty tales astray

Oh Laura, thank you for your heaving breast
and golden hair like silver thread, it seems
(a strange analogy, it must be said)
As muses go, you’re up there with the best,
since thanks to Petrarch and his graphic dreams,
there’s not a part of you that wasn’t spread.