2019 02 16
When dawn light gleams rose over misty hills,
Phoibos Polyarnos, blessed with plump sheep
he tends in cloudy flocks on lush flowered hills,
sits under tall Melia, Manna Ash Tree,
and strums lyre strings that vibrate in cool breeze
as he sings about Ouranos and Gaia.
Stopping with heart-aching sigh, Phoibos stares
at many sheep that graze on dew-wet grass,
and feels nostalgia pierce his beating heart
with longing for those days so long ago
when his mother and her sisters, wild nymphs
with long hair, would dance circles in dawn breeze.
While he would play lyre beneath Melian Ash,
the laughing nymphs, with eyes blue as dawn sky,
would brew honey-sap from trunks of the Ash
with gold honey and apples in brass cauldron
that simmered over crackling flames as scent
of ambrosia wafted on river breezes.
Then Melian nymphs would call their leaping children
who gathered around pot of bubbling juice
and dipped lion-paw seashells with small fingers
to scoop sweet ambrosia, then sit with flowers
among milling sheep and sip honey cider
that sparkled smooth sweetness on tingling tongues.
"The sweet Melian nymphs all died of old age
and now fertilize grass where plump sheep graze,
the girls all married good farmers or craftsmen,
and the boys all joined army of our king
but died fighting wars in lands far away,
so now I alone tend sheep on lush hills."
White blossoms of the Melian Ash Tree float
on river breeze to cover his long hair,
like snow flakes swirling from bleak silver clouds,
so Phoibos Polyarnos plucks lyre strings
and sings of his mother dancing in mist
while flocks of sheep float like clouds over hills.