The Grove Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

THE GROVE

Far from the city, the towns,
The statues in the square,
I strolled to a grove of chestnut browns;
Butterflies glimmered in the summer air.
There were gourds which gleamed
Where I beheld the gods of old;
Hermes and Osiris appeared in garments of gold,
And in the rays of Phoebes I dreamed.
Ascending with the tremulous stars came Artemis;
I laid my head in the dew-clad grain.
I awoke to the moon, and I strolled down a rustic lane.
I passed by the viny lattice of a wooden trellis.
Suddenly a storm arose, consuming the wild sky;
Fair, beloved Iris commingled with my muse,
And with a rhapsody of varied hues,
Painted bowers within my verse,
Until my ink-well went dry.

~ John Lars Zwerenz