Friday, August 26, 2011

Epithalamium: Twenty-fourth Hour

Oh, muse, did you call back to say you’re well?
My singing ends, I know, much too self-conscious -
Invoking music’s mirrors with selfish spells.
My friends, I run the risk of Narcissus,
But agitate his placid pool –
And pray this paltry poem's shallow puddles
Reflects the truth you’ve tapped with love in deeper wells.

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