{"id":778,"date":"2013-08-11T21:13:57","date_gmt":"2013-08-12T04:13:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stickpersonpoetry.com\/spp\/?p=778"},"modified":"2016-07-12T11:59:41","modified_gmt":"2016-07-12T18:59:41","slug":"0811","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stickpersonpoetry.com\/spp\/2013\/08\/11\/0811\/","title":{"rendered":"0811"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

0811
\nMy hats are my proems<\/p>\n

To My Wife – With A Copy Of My Poems <\/strong>
\nBy Oscar Wilde<\/p>\n

I can write no stately proem
\nAs a prelude to my lay;
\nFrom a poet to a poem
\nI would dare to say.<\/p>\n

For if of these fallen petals
\nOne to you seem fair,
\nLove will waft it till it settles
\nOn your hair.<\/p>\n

And when wind and winter harden
\nAll the loveless land,
\nIt will whisper of the garden,
\nYou will understand.<\/p>\n