Silver Samovar

A Silver Samovar

A Silly Sonnet
By Izzy Sommers
For November, 2005
In Welland, Canada

A gleaming silver samovar held hot
Black Russian tea that Anastasia Romanov
Had served. She changed my blue to rose.
She showed me eggs that Faberge had made.
Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique was played for me.
I would have lingered more had not a knock
Come at the door. ‘Twas Alexander Borodin
And Anastasia let him in.
Excitedly, he spoke to her in Russian.
Then, she turned to me and said, “Please leave.
I have to go and hear it for myself.
The Bolshoi royal box can not accommodate
You, too.” My blue returned. Can you
Compete with chemists who write music, too?


THE END