"Amour toujour", he whispered to the wind;
with blazing sentiments and overflown
he visioned her upon her sheep-cot throne,
his goad and mindless heed, undisciplined.
His Goat, with grace, was prancing on the grass,
upon the greenest fields where poppies bloomed,
his senses onerous and kinda flumed,
amid the blooms inhaled the sassafras.
Hence, from the sheep-cots 'pon the distant glens
where shepherds played the flutes, forever skilled,
recalled the bleating of his flock and reeled
his foolish verse for ewe-comediennes.
Her magic, virtuous, appealed to rams;
her pepped up rumination's cheering notes
and soon, the drunken sheep and tripping goats,
the shepherd's dance convoyed, with flutes and drums.
© 03-07-2014, G. Venetopoulos
(Iambic Pentameter - Pastoral)