longing

bye and bye it came to pass
that when it reached the seventh hour
he lay down upon the grass
bewitched by a most magic flower
that with a smooth enchanting tongue
that didn't even make him sneeze
blew some perfume in his lung
then flew off on the saintly breeze
until its image taken through
the texts and figures centuries old
pierced the shell the Tritons blew
draped low in sheer diaphanous folds
and landed near a garden pond
edged with rocks of basalt black
where a boy with hair of blonde
tried to hold his salt tears back

the day by then was now far spent
he murmurs to the winds that blow
invites them join him in his tent
expand his nostrils, fan the glow

and the winds told him of a lad
lying down upon the grass
bewitched by a most magic flower
and how this all had come to pass
when it reached the seventh hour
he wished that they could be together
and live a life of steady zeal
in summer days of highest feather
where naught could break the holy seal
their destinies entwined so fast
their hands and souls forever linked
where nothing could their joy outlast
while the vast timelessness of heaven blinked