Old Song His Father Sang

Old Song His Father Sang
© Surazeus
2026 04 27

Small pony gallops on the river shore 
with casual nonchalance of happy hope 
to find the celestial pear tree of truth 
and feast on transient beauty of this world 
while Phoebus plays worn lyre of Mercury 
and sings the same old song his father sang. 

"Regret should not rule how we live each day," 
Phoebus explains to the gold yarrow bloom, 
but sighs and leans against the tall pear tree 
as aching sorrow settles on his heart, 
heavy as river stone no man can move, 
longing to sing old song his father sang. 

Dozing half-asleep in warm late-spring sun, 
Phoebus feels presence of shimmering ghost 
whose long gold hair wraps his mind in soft web, 
so he reaches out his attentive hand 
to caress glamorous haze of her face 
and wakes to see her leaning over him. 

Clear face of Cassandra with dark gold eyes 
fills the whole sky with gleam of her skin, 
so Phoebus stretches and offers her pears, 
then strums strings of worn lyre with inspired hope 
and sings heart-enchanting melody of love 
while she eats fruit with juice-glistening lips. 

Embraced with passion of the turning world, 
Phoebus and Cassandra kiss with delight, 
weaving spirit threads of their pulsing minds 
through shimmering web of the universe, 
which expands scope of compassionate faith 
till they become one soul of nameless joy. 

Setting Cassandra on pony of trust, 
Phoebus leads them along the winding stream 
while she bears basket of pears on her lap, 
toward the large market town on the lake shore 
where she sells pears while he strums taut lyre strings 
to practice same old song his father sang. 

Glowing with pleasure of living their day, 
Phoebus takes hands of Cassandra in his 
so they dance together on the lake shore 
while everyone gathers in temple hall 
to feast and laugh, till they all hush with hope 
to hear Phoebus sing song his father sang. 

"We are frail flowers blooming from the Earth 
who scatter seeds of our souls in the soil 
so our children will bloom from womb of time, 
for, though our bodies may flourish, then wither, 
in seasons of change for thousands of years, 
we are born again in children of love."