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The Story Speaks In You

The Cunning Prince
A born of flame, of sensing twinkling soul,
Admire that, alas, I could not hold,
Poured inside out, fearful doubts melting,
Unveiling naive rhymes, delight in waiting.

Has ever been a time I did not know you?
How could I fall for spell of teasing verdure,
Of hope, legends-twining line of thought
Your cunning squint to follow gently called?

A Muse in furs - wheat curls, banging heels -
To some of us reveals her laughing breeze
And hands you potion of the verses' scents
In glass of wine with charm - and fleets again.

Another Muse shows as a wolf, or crow,
Or silhouette at dawn in waving cloak
To lead your courage into righteous fight
To shake the sadness off a gloomy mind.

But who knocks on my door? A green-eyed prince.
No castle, neither friends, nor horse - just wit?
A wanderer from past stepped into present,
Through mirror sneaked in daylight carrying feathers.

Old worlds, lisp of ash-tree, fluid visions -
He masters art of essence in collisions.
Alas, not me - admire bounds with craft:
The joy of words he planted in my heart.

June 2020
To the character that has always inspired me.
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