This
is a poesy for your curiosity, a quip to quench your thirst, a symposium for
Socratic honor to the God Eros. Perhaps the encomium belongs to Plato whose
stewardship led to script. A script past down through ages, it leaves us not
alone, in the contemplation of Eros and the mysteries of love.
Scarred and
bruised and broken, youth leaves us all so vain, for love is truly fickle when
beauty is on the wane. You never lose your wanton eyes and loving of the fair.
You did not choose a lovers lies, nor the graying of your hair.
Seeking and
learning and knowing, wise sayings from the past. Praises hale to our God Eros
whose love eternal lasts. With beauty gone none ring your bell your time is all
alone. A well springs forth and time will tell the magic you have sown.
A child came
forth, a product of your youthful need to sire, a shallow love of visceral want
and object of your desire. A passion not of first request with needs they do
require, of spirit and reason and intellect of you they do inquire.
The bell rings a
beautiful sound as you answer Eros’ call. A love so strong came raining down
bestowed upon us all. Agape love, a giving love, God Eros he had smiled, for
there is no greater love, as a parent’s for a child.
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