A New Metre: Poetry Archive

“Having many things to write unto you, I would not write with paper and ink . . .” —II John 12

To Mnemosyne

Flowers picked are flowers withered,
and birds in cages no more fly.
A thirst once quenched will thirst again
unless it drink from Mnemosyne.

Faded blossoms blow again,
and sky will open up to wings.
Mnemosyne, if drunk anew,
will, cool and sweet, all old things bring.

Birds may fly among the blooms
along that river’s mind-wrought bank;
though caged they’ve been for many years,
and petals’ colours all are blank.

Time will take such as we see —
the water brings it all back free.

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