Wednesday, April 26, 2017


In my end is my beginning
As lilacs bloom
      by my door,
 Certain deities
Live again who have
      lived before;

And an ancient face
Passes by my window, three
At a slow celestial pace
She walks once
Again to grace the age

With a glimpse of Her,
No poet ever descried her
Or was able to describe her,
Hard as he tried
To capture Her golden
      light upon the page.

Yes, she walks now,
She comes up from
      the sea...

And what she leaves
In the minds of Mind
Is not relaxed contentment,
      a lazy peace:
But a prick to the testes
And a ball-kick
      above the knees...

Yet she is adored always.

(C)2017 by W.G. Milne

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