The color was tired <br />Of variegation, <br />Calliope’s sad wing <br />Was lowered, <br />But like my cactus <br />At its eighth year, <br />The words, at night, <br />Calmly flowered. <br /> <br />The vein is startled <br />By the purple pulse, <br />Ink-colored became <br />My sadness. <br />Years ago, I had <br />Such a feeling – <br />The feeling so airy <br />And stainless… <br /> <br />Sweetly sing <br />The heavenly virgins, <br />Pleasant to ear <br />Are the rows of rhymes. <br />The sisters from Parnassus <br />Wave to me <br />Their curly plaits, <br />And ring the chimes. <br /> <br /> <br />*** <br /> The speechless astronomer <br />Mustn’t aim <br />His telescope <br />At the rhymes; <br />All the words <br />Do hit the target, <br />Grief eats out <br />The heart in no time… <br /> <br /> 22.03.2008.<br /><br />Tsira Gogeshvili<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/parnassus-again/
