Robert Avery

Man of paper, man of words,
on Ladder Hill a mind has been,
man whose eye is like a bird’s,

man of wit as sharp as swords,
to steer with fine hilt damascene,
man of paper, man of words,

man of plays who trod the boards
directing passion to each scene,
man whose eye is like a bird’s,

a teacher whom the time applauds,
a householder, with garden green,
man of paper, man of words,

an artist who could touch the chords
of light in portraiture serene,
man whose eye is like a bird’s,

whom Wheatley village now accords
the freedom to stay on unseen.
Man of paper, man of words,
man whose eye is like a bird’s.