John Lars Zwerenz
Lethe (A Sonnet)
LETHE (A Sonnet)
I shall open my satchel and compose anew.
While dreaming, I saunter to the inn for a brew;
After I shall wander to the outskirts of the grove.
A Carolingian chatelaine has fallen in love.
Her bastion’s teeming turrets, and their ancient, stony tiers
Shine above the fountains in the cloistered, marble square.
She admires a row of flowers and combs her undulant hair,
As she walks by the sculptures, near the bower’s belvederes.
I shall drink the dews from the grand beyond,
From the elysian wells of her royal countenance.
I shall greet her with my verse as a Saxon vagabond,
Enraptured and drunk with the orgasmic cadence
Which emanates from the aspects of her deep, raven eyes,
Beneath the lethe of the moon, and the swallow that sighs.
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