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...
and
might have been
All lost in rueful reverie.
He started,
stamped
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.
"Gone."
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
Earth
Then I sadly sighed,
turned
and climbed the hill,
Cutting the shining turf with my own bright hooves.
That Which Was
