The longing. The Pindaric ode

You – such a dreamery born from Dionysian odes

like tender day in Your winds – enchanted butterflies

as the Golden Fleece – bewitched in my meek fantasy

august paradise lost is thus found and so dreamy

You lotus-like butterfly you – above volcanos

with wing-bewitchment immortalized in the times

I want to be such you and eternal thankful eyes

a plethora of feelings shines in tender myths lands

I would be magnificent and gorgeous like some ghosts

I will daydream over the soft foggy mournful morns

I long for tenderness of a mayhap dreamy dew

amaranthine but golden muse told me: Let’s go!

dearest butterfly Your blood is like an ambrosia

Your soul seems to be a pretty light eudemonia

Your tender garden is at morning star so moony

Your thoughts are dazzling moonglow awoken from fantasy

I yearn in winter for eternal Horace’s feelings

created born in springtide from the Ovidian songs

I am going to go to Pythia – temple in summer

 a naiad becomes for Artemis’ sake muse in fall

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