A Son Of Apollo Poem by james watkin
A Son Of Apollo
Laughed at for this!
What as much is
In one's favour, directed
Blessed from on high.
Kindred life-step
This, to a god's!
Soars, lyred, spared from which plods
'Neath woeful sky.
For each ripeness
Of sunned roundness
Left, right, but left to hang as
An allurement
What to his soul
A poet's real
Shapes, shines, for beauty's ideal.
Youth's. Yours! Face-bent.
Sunday, April 9, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: poet
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11/10/2024 1:40:55 PM # 1.0.0
