Dear Oscar

[Achebe]

Dear Oscar, 

I have sent a rose. It is
not red, I fear, for I can find no thorn
that's sharp enough to press my heart against. - bellissimo!
Each night I dream of jewels uncovered by
the picks of men who bleed beneath the sweet - all gold
blue tent of sky – a blistered hand is soft
against the cheek of tyranny. Your palm - clever take on 'turn the other cheek'
has cleared the path for asses; in your throat - outstanding
you store the elegy, unsung, for men
who walk the hills of memory, but stand
behind the walls of law. Behind the blind
and crowing cock, whose dawn is lost to light. - from 'sent a rose' until this is all peaks for me.
Dear Oscar, rest: your words have taken wing - asking the dead to "rest"....doesn't fit in with the high quality of the rest of the poem.
and though our giant's gone, he lives in Spring. - problematic. The gentle giant was not the Christ child. But surely the cock crowed for Christ? The analogy breaks down a bit here.

Overall, I really enjoyed reading this, and it is a beautiful tribute to OW.