Lone in the meadows
A wind stirs the laurel trees
where two springs await
Waters of wisdom
flow down the silent streams of
rivers of yore
remembrance's bound to
the drink from the Mnemonic
source of arrogance
In my hands I raise
the waters from the Lethe
and a sip I take
The laughter of the
Naiades I hear, swirling
as I'm washed and wiped
Ephemeral the threads
of liquid that escape my
grasp - as ideas depart.
Careless, epicene.
My wreath's woven by thoughts,
Crowned by naught I am
A wind stirs the laurel trees
where two springs await
Waters of wisdom
flow down the silent streams of
rivers of yore
remembrance's bound to
the drink from the Mnemonic
source of arrogance
In my hands I raise
the waters from the Lethe
and a sip I take
The laughter of the
Naiades I hear, swirling
as I'm washed and wiped
Ephemeral the threads
of liquid that escape my
grasp - as ideas depart.
Careless, epicene.
My wreath's woven by thoughts,
Crowned by naught I am