The tower of
counted coin
the wheat of
my granaries
A paved road
for the cart
and the oxen
provided for
My men fitly
fed, attired
civil-minded
and mannered
•
Olive groves
in abundance
the orchards
fig and plum
Meat, fleece
of the lambs
Hecatombs of
fatted boars
A black bull
for the gods
Pyres raised
to the ether
•
Lush forests
yield timber
my shipyards
all business
Dawn to dusk
my potteries
the painters
well-trained
Black beasts
wrestle with
Heracles, in
red outlines
•
And my ships
bearing gold
to pay hands
--all skills
The guilds a
philanthropy
by every man
who advances
the pregnant
contour, hue
the craft of
his ancestor
•
And I savour
rich texture
of both clay
and tapestry
Spice of the
foreign land
Cinnabar for
a full table
Exotic cloth
for the wife
Peace--in an
orderly life
•
And my slave
is well-paid
his work not
too exacting
mind or body
not punished
if compliant
with the law
In every way
I am liberal
and civility
is my temper
•
And twilight
brings larks
to my garden
and vineyard
My forsythia
fresh yellow
Lilacs bloom
by the roses
Clematis and
ivy climb up
green crotch
of the trees
•
My starlings
flit & flirt
coquettes to
my eye, sore
bent over my
many ledgers
Line by line
the dull ink
this concern
and that one
Deluge after
drought, yet
•
My daughters
in fine wool
my sons hale
and handsome
The children
of my babies
the clenched
little fists
red-faced in
ornate tears
laughing are
pure delight
•
These are my
soil, my air
root, branch
shoot, bloom
quick growth
of my summer
wool blanket
to my winter
The arteries
of my health
and the pump
of my wealth
•
These hew my
soul's shape
No ink shows
it in tables
yet an order
built up and
in every way
sustained by
the tower of
counted coin
the wheat of
my granaries
•
Float, float
up to heaven
Midas's pure
sprung psalm
Holy Olympus
on its mount
down-clouded
azure, white
but its gods
heard "gold"
and "me" and
nothing else
© Dan Goorevitch
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