There stands upon my case of books
A Wedgwood vase
In Wedgwood blue.
Across it stray the Greek bearers bearing what offering I do not know.
To what altar they go I do not know yet
I suspect it is to Love.
The altars of Minerva and Diana have few offerings,
The wisdom of the hunt is doubted,
Apollo’s bright light, his melodies have no heat
Aphrodite’s graceful foam slakes no thirst
No, oh no, no incense or perfume or flower to them is carried thus
So quietly, so skillfully, around and round again upon
The Wedgwood vase
In Wedgwood blue
The Greek bearers bear their offering, yes I am sure, to a child
Fond of piercing games.
Always to Love.
D. Larson
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