Melodies On Oak Flute

Melodies On Oak Flute
© Surazeus
2025 06 04

Zillions of people who have lived and died 
follow me around in the air I breathe, 
and fall on my head as cold drops of rain, 
so I stop by the river in the woods 
and try to recite their forgotten names 
which I hear whispered in song of the sea. 

Eyes black as the new moon behind rain clouds, 
she smiles at me with beaming gaze of love 
as we sit on the rocky shore of time 
so I place in her hand the tangerine 
which I plucked from tree of eternity, 
then she touches my cheek with her warm hand. 

Always gazing in abyss of my heart, 
she tells me how the universe was born 
and how light weaves wild atoms into spheres 
where conscious creatures crawl up sparkling streams 
and how my admiration for her being 
sparks new soul in warm cavern of her mind. 

After herding goats for six thousand years 
in rugged hills of lush Arcadia 
beneath the sloping knoll in myrtle shade 
where they drink from sparkling springs of Cranae, 
I ask sweet Daphne if she knows my name, 
but she just smiles and gazes at the moon. 

Where heifers low beside the crystal stream 
young Daphnis gazes at the rising sun, 
amazed at how its light seems to create 
varied shape of this world which undulates 
with river valleys between rocky hills 
where nightingales sing sweet among tree boughs. 

Gold honey flowing from the sticky comb 
tastes sweet in liquor bubbling in the pot, 
so Thyrsis plays melodies on oak flute 
while Daphnis strides with apples in his arms 
which he throws to each couple on the shore 
who feed their children around glowing fires. 

Sweet visions of life in the countryside 
where my ancestors dwelled in paradise 
long before men invented spears and swords 
blind my eyes to the world empire of towers 
with connected world wide web of computers 
that expands each day on our spinning globe. 

Though no one weeps for death of Daphnis now 
four thousand years after he herded goats, 
yet still I think about his gentle ways 
and how the village girls wept at his grave 
that was blasted by bombs in the world war 
which burns every library to the ground.