Rarest Vintage

(inspired a little by "The Fairy Queen Went Down to Georgia")

From times before my memory I served
His Majesty: each thought, each word, each whim
My joy to bring to fleeting life for him,
While leaving lesser mortal souls unnerved,
Uncertain of the shadows in their eyes.
I fell, I shall admit, was cast away
Like Adam from the Garden that eighth day,
Now bound to live within my hand-made lies.
I have but one regret: the sweetest wine
That ever passed the lips of any man,
The Fountain of my youth, that very same
I miss more than the home which once was mine.
How lucky they, who never tasting, can
Not slowly die for that which has no name.

Trapped in this mortal shell, I dream of nights
'Twould make those nightlings on the turrets green
With longing for the mysteries I've seen:
The breadth and width of Avalon's delights,
Touched Freya's plumage, seen Myrmidon's lights,
And far more things both grandiose and mean.
Asleep, my soul as to a magnet leans
To memories of all my absent sights.
But for that one, that taste unknown in years,
It longs without a pause by night or day,
By sleep or waking, sweetness steals my calm:
The salt-kissed tang of love-made sweat, and tears,
The scent of dewy musk.  This mirrored clay
Would melt but for a drop of that cool balm.

10/97