A poem for my twin daughters on Shakespeare’s birthday 2014

Two tin pots that boil at their brims

Flare up, free in a confluence of careful

Genetic coincidence.

The X and Y do not ask why

This attraction lies in magnets

Made from the same

Mortal magma. Nor will I ever.

Or two quarks perhaps, two

Parts caught in one

Quartz incredibly crystallized.

Unbreakable fizzing fission,

Fusion unmeldable,

A star sat in a star, a sun

Within a sun and one

Shall the other swallow up,

As primroses pop out in green

Grass in purple spring.

Sing, sing, sing a verse and a verse,

Then a chorus sweet divine harmony.

My honeyed loves, my peace, my doves of life,

My wife and me know our melodies’ refrain,

So, so, so lucky, we can smile

And sing again and again.

So son me no sons oh Lord,

For they would be out shone

Outdone divine,

By my twin daughters.