Lambing the Muse

A hard mistress is my muse

This poor poet so to abuse

For no sleep shall she grant

Until word more utter I can't

So now in gross poetic line

I shall recall the ivy and vine

And upon god of grape and desire

I shall offer this sacred fire

That mayhap they shall can see

What image has now come to me

That day when Pan did see there

Upon the hilltop green, the fair

One, keeper of his ancient heart

And turner of his nature's art

The one which in poetic code

shall be called Lamb, as innocence bode

For like a lamb Pam's lover was tame

And knew not the rules of love's game

And trusted heart unto one so dark

The one with the most evil heart

But anon he would take hold of prize

Pan glanced into those gorgeous eyes

And realized no matter he lust much

This pure beauty he could not touch

He hid his face in utter shame

And he threw away his form and name

And took upon him a more humble form

And would no more the laurel adorn

But as a goat he wandered the fields

Where golden Demeter her scepter wields

And as he journeyed to distant parts

The lamb he always kept within his heart

In the hopes that they could still be friends

In the hopes they would someday meet again