Opus 1661: Bouts rimes

Phillip A. Ellis

My heart is never with Galilee
   knowing history’s sacks and pyres,
my heart belongs to Thessaly


with wine and lyrics incessantly
   red as the welcoming witches’ fires.
My heart is never with Galilee,


whose dreams had sprung so verdantly
   because, in a world of strange desires,
my heart belongs to Thessaly.


Poseidon rules my mystic sea
   and I sing along with nightingale lyres--
my heart is never with Galilee,


but ever it dreams thus, magically
   witnessing the constellations’ gyres:
my heart belongs to Thessaly.


Sing thus wildflowers fragrantly:
   weave a wreathe to wear since, for me,
   my heart is never with Galilee,
my heart belongs to Thessaly.

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