That Which Was

      I met a Centaur in the wood one drowsy, Summer-dappled day
      As on a fallen stump I sat with pipe in hand...
                         and thinking in my sadness on that which was...
                                              and is...
                     might have been
      All lost in rueful reverie.

      He started,
                                     and whirled about on flashing hooves.
      Checked, pawed the ground when no aggressive move I made,
      Then stood a-quiver in the banded sun, regarding me with needle eye
      From under wreathed and tangled brow while all the world held breath.

      At length he spoke with thick, outlandish tongue which I,
                            in no surprise,
      could understand
       Though such harsh sounds had not been heard since days when all the world
      was young.

      "Where Maenads? Sileni? Where Satyrs gone?"
                                     then sly...
      "Seen Brisa? Good for love!"
      He flexed his gleaming golden hide.

                  I said in leaden tone'
      "Gone these many weary years."
      He stamped again. "I find!" he snapped.
      A green bough slapped the empty spot where once he stood and stood no more.
      For a moment longer, I sat
                                               listening to the heartbeat of the
      Then I sadly sighed,
      and climbed the hill,

                   Cutting the shining turf with my own bright hooves.



(C) Copyright April 15, 2001
All Rights Reserved

invisible hit counter