The longing.
The Pindaric ode
You – such a dreamery born from Dionysian odes
like tender day in Your winds – enchanted butterflies
as the Golden Fleece – bewitched in my meek fantasy
august paradise lost is thus found and so dreamy
You lotus-like butterfly you – above volcanos
with wing-bewitchment immortalized in the times
I want to be such you and eternal thankful eyes
a plethora of feelings shines in tender myths lands
I would be magnificent and gorgeous like some ghosts
I will daydream over the soft foggy mournful morns
I long for tenderness of a mayhap dreamy dew
amaranthine but golden muse told me: Let’s go!
dearest butterfly Your blood is like an ambrosia
Your soul seems to be a pretty light eudemonia
Your tender garden is at morning star so moony
Your thoughts are dazzling moonglow awoken from fantasy
I yearn in winter for eternal Horace’s feelings
created born in springtide from the Ovidian songs
I am going to go to Pythia – temple in summer
a naiad becomes for Artemis’ sake muse in fall