Forsooth beloveds;
'Tis I……Pan
Mystic, poet and Faun
Indeed a loose arrow
In flight, though aimless
Rest easy my children
Destination matters not
Until your junket ends
And “Grim One” lay claim
Dance rather than sit
Sing don't complain
Make-Merry then Mary make
Drink Huxley’s soma
Eat from Cornucopia
Above all…laugh, cry and feel
Then...
Ye shall truly know what’s real
ROTMS
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem