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Nero fiddled
by Charlie Morgani could faintly make out Nero's fiddling,
from a distance of thousands of years.
he played as none cared, none wanted.
he was in fear for Status Quo had gone,
left instead a cousin: the Unknown.
Nero dressed in his best toga, sandals;
grabbed his fiddle and danced, sang
to a Heaven he knew not; sat, sighed. 09/25/2008 Posted on 09/25/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 09/25/08 at 05:45 PM What a beautiful sign of the times, darlin. I had to go refresh myself on Nero after reading this. "for Status Quo had gone, left instead a cousin: the Unknown." is superb.
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