I have heard nymphs are sometimes found
In the fragrant wood.
It would be good to lie down
On the leafy ground
And take delight in Aphrodite.
But no, the wood
Is full of deep mud
And poor Miss Aphrodite
Would spoil yet another nightie!
I have stood
And walked
Through the wood
And thought
On nymphs who bring delight
In woods
To passersby such as I.
I have sought for Aphrodite
Amidst the flowering tree
And have heard the birds
Sing in hopeful spring.
But now Autumn has come
And no Aphrodite
Sings to me.
Men dream
Of a beauty queen.
A few find romance
In Aphrodite’s dance.
Her bare
Arms
And each pert breast
Possess
Such charms.
But, if she be
Merely beauty,
It preys on his mind,
That behind
That pretty face
Lies a vacant place.
Her perfume is sweet
At night.
But, come morning’s light
Body odours defeat
And fresh perfume
Must fill the room.
Yet he
Is as she
And must
Wash and brush.
I
Know that Lust
Has a short sell by date,.
And both love and lust
End in dust.
Oh what would I give
To see where nymphs live!
Strolling through forest glade
I have met
Many a staid maid.
I regret
That, on my way
Through forest green
I have never seen
Flighty Aphrodite.
But, perchance
I may
Join nymphs in their dance
One day,
And hear Pan’s pipes play.
“Do nymphs still play
In woodland glades today
And the sunlight gleam
On pristine stream,
Where Flighty Aphrodite
Goes dancing and romancing?”
I asked Christine.
She made reply,
With a sultry look, in her one good eye,
“I aim to please
But the pollon makes me sneeze
So no rolling in the hay
For me today”.
Christine is such a tease …
In woods green
Nymphs were sometimes seen
By mortal men.
Now when
Girls I see in short clothes,
Their toes
Bare, to the sultry air
I wonder where
All the inocence has gone.
Yet Aphrodite
Was flighty
(Was she not?,
And on hot
London nights
Phone calls will be made
And visits paid
By aphrodite, to oh so mortal men
Shall I compete
With high-heeled feet
As the gods look down
And snigger or frown?
Aphrodite is flighty
Yet I have thought her divine
And from time to time
Still worship at her shrine.
Nymphs suppress a sigh
And smile.
They will, for a little while
Stay
Though they long to hie
Away.
Gloss
May conceal the crack of age.
I am at a loss
But should learn
To turn
Over a new page
For this stage
Is a temporary thing
And I am without a ring
K Morris - Poet 