i live in the highlands where the fairies sleep where moon-falls and sunrises are the time i keep where the mist rises to greet the day and the wind whistles as the aspens sway three miles up a washboard road that climbs through fields where hay is sowed green rolling hills where leprechauns gather where life slows down and time don't matter i live in the highlands where the fairies sleep where the good life is simple and the simple life is sweet
Calliope, Mother of Muses
release this wretched poet!
Cast out your line, measure the meters,
lend an ear to the melodic melodies;
teach this poet to sing!
Oh, Sweet Muse of Eloquence,
unshackle this poet from antiquated forms
that their works are not rendered relics;
rather, tarnished with a patina of vulnerability.
Summon Boreas, God of the North Wind
that their runes may soar upon ancient wings
and land in the hearts of men
with the dew of authenticity.
some say, the sweetness of time
is to enjoy its passage
yet i want to harness this moment
and not let go
the past wants me back
the future won’t wait
but here and now is where it’s at
oh, how i will savor
the sweetness of time's passage
with my presence