The nymph of tomorrow
Portends sorrow,
While the sprite of today
Sounds a doleful lay
On her violin
Of sin.
Round the budding rose
The satyr goes,
Listening to music sad
That will drive him mad.
the sprites continue to play.
There music divine
Does say
“Drink of my wine
Forbidden
And in caverns hidden
We will spend our day”.
The satyr doth long
For wine more strong
Than any taken
Before.
He tastes, and is left forsaken
And forever craving more.
The satyrs drink
And think
On woodland sprites
And fleeting delights.
The sprites preen
And glean
What they may
For youth passeth away.
“Will you stay
Awhile?”
The satyrs say
With a nonchalant smile.
“I will remain
Until dawn does stain
The sky with gold.
Tomorrow will be a cold
Day”,
The sprites say.
Sunlight slants through branches.
The ethereal girl dances
As the poet romances
Her
Out of the summer air.
The trill
Of an evening blackbird
Is heard.
Then without a word
She is gone,
Though in his heart she lives on.
Perchance
She will dance
Once more
When Autumn winds roar,
And clothed in russet gown
We will lie down
And forever, sleep
With legs bare
And wet hair,
A nymph bold
Doesn’t care
About the old
Men who, trying not to stare
Think on wives with grey hair
And sagging skin,
As they contemplate the power
Of the cold shower
As an antidote to sin …
Me reading my poem ‘Plinths’
No romancing
Nor dancing,
Or lovelorn glancing.
Men advancing
As stallions prancing
Towards nymphs on plinths.
Love, she departed long since
K Morris - Poet 