Ceaseless Traffic


The noise is traffic and it is ceaseless.
Turn back where lies your sleeping angel
enveloped in silence.
Her hand unconsciously entwines with yours.
She is the one to lead you through
olive, myrtle, laurel groves.
You with the narrative; she and her elixir;
when both are lost and mists clear 
you'll find a forever home, 
perched beside bluest sea. Crystal air
upholds gulls a-floating, distant clouds evolve
-this is not a painting. And when she wakes
all will dissolve, one season become another,
just a kiss connects the two.

◄ Aesop's Parade

Quiz On Greek Gods ►


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