Marietta My Muse Poem by Benjamin Feliciano
Marietta My Muse
Through the cloud of scented leaves,
Burnt and breathed and beautiful,
I see a flame.
Stark red hair, an apparition of Shallot.
We are divided by a pastel piano
Colored yellow, pink, and green.
Just beyond the trees of the piazza,
Marietta plays gently a somber song.
She is naught but a vision
And I see no gaze emanating from her eyes.
Who is she, this Marietta I know so well?
Who I know so little?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 9:20:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
