Olympus has known the music
that inspires gods and mortals alike.
Euphrosyne, Aglaia, and Thalia sung
with the muses. Goodwill fruited
in renewed boughs of garden blossom
that dispersed a philosophers’ age,
Aristotle, Plato, Socrates,
their thoughtful kind.
And in time, creation cast
these flowers to the four winds,
integrated as a white mist
into each hemisphere. A different soil
covered the world’s founding cities,
grounded art as musical heartbeats
if man listened intently, dreamed
in quavers, minims, crotchets.
Eurynome nodded to Aphrodite,
Aphrodite bid Apollo play upon his lyre,
even Zeus lightened his stern moods,
and the maidens danced, three graces
which were not individual splendors,
charms or ideals of beauty,
but a balance of artful companions;
myth’s petals that composed a true bloom
in an afternoon lull for mankind.
“Mortals might prove entertaining,
who knows if not we?,
for even we gods become bored
sometimes”, she joked with Pan,
concealing one of Eros’s arrows
in Zeus’s stuffed chair.
“The gods too are fond of a joke.”
– Aristotle (384-322 B.C.)