These verses are drought’s daughters, desert dreams
From when the Fount of Thalia ran dry; Few then the fruits that ripened by her streams, And sour of taste, though seeming sweet to eye. That paltry harvest met a harsher blast, A steward stern, of judgment never ceasing, Who oft banned what the harvester had passed, And left the table starvéd of its feasting. I plead your pardon for this banquet’s dearth, And venture hope when next you’re called to dine Mnemosyne’s fair girl shall bless the earth, That you may find the fare set forth divine. Till such a time the present dish, for all, Those once and future feasts to mind must call. |
Underserving
from
An Occasional Fountain : collected verses,
1st ed.,
Dec. 2011.
An earlier (prose) version appeared in the chapbook
All-Too-Occasional Verses, Dec. 2005.
1st web edition posted
1/12/2012.
This page last updated
7/26/2013.
Published by Fleabonnet Press.
©
2011-2013 by
Brian Kunde.