Today's poem

ANNE MILTON SPEAKS ABOUT SATAN, WHO HAS STOPPED BY AFTER AN EVENING SPENT LISTENING TO HER BROTHER JOHN DICTATING PARADISE LOST

To give him his due – unwise to give him less! –

Satan is the best of mimics. When he talks about

His family I can see them each before me

His spine stiffens; the humor flees from his eyes

And there is Michael; his fingers on the hilt

Of a rustless sword. A subtle twitch; Uriel is there

Always a step behind and two steps to the side.

I’ve never met Galadriel, but I know her blink;

I know how the Recording Angel cocks his head

Listening for the echo of his own lost name.

Then God is there and there is no room for me

Too much light, too much roaring silence.

If I could speak, if I could ask, if I could exist

In the face of this, I would beg that it stop.

It does; my house stands; I am not mere ashes.

Thank God! It is only Satan sitting here

A hand on his forehead, his eyes like candles.

As far as I am concerned, Anne Milton did not die young lived long enough to make friends with Satan, who would come by after a long evening of listening to John dictate Paradise Lost. As proof that this is so, I have a large number of poems by or about her. Who could ask for more solid evidence than this? (Comments are more than welcome; however I already know about Galadriel).