To The Muse; An Old-Fashioned Poem 1
Swans were passing-foolish I
burned to fly and with them soar-
beat my limbs till they were sore
but rose no closer to the sky.
Harkening to their fading choir
Hope quick Anger turned into-
still to the horizon flew
those gorgeous minions of desire;
till they passed beyond my ken:
then did I, on either hand
curse the heavens, curse the land
wept and wailed the lot of men
Who fall behind their striving hearts
and tumble to the dust, alas,
the body's fabric at the last
dissolved, to prove his mortal parts.
But high within your mountain lair
you heard my weeping, saw my tears
and knowing them rare and quite sincere
jumped up high and rode the airs.
You strode the winds and sailed the sea
the earth beneath your sandal's heel
took print, until discovering me
cynical, beside a well,
You set your hands upon my head,
drew me backwards by the hair
hissed and whispered in my ear,
alternately threatened, pled.
I shrank in terror-terrified
to gaze upon your nakedness-
you breathed into my nostrils breath
that soul and body soon revived.
You took my...
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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