The cold Olympians may have slept
Since all their temples fell
But prayers they hear and tears they see
And oracles they tell
When faithful heart dreams of their names
Elysian hands descend
To touch the lips that conjour them
And give a blessed end
So dearest love they mend your heart
Awake those eyes and see
A future of adventure bright
And ever blessed be!
[c] 2006
spaces.msn.com/Mairibheag/
Author notes
Written February 8th, 2006
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Many thanks, friend Eusebius.
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Bravo!
a wonderfully crafted poem! Excellent rhyme and perfect meter! Loved it! Bravo!
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