To Apollo:

To Apollo:

Pardon my manners

And pardon this man

Who-

Sits on the marble to my right

For as I’m sure, you much like I or we,

Wishes to be embodied in the mind or desires of

Passerby’s and star gazers

Instead of forgotten for that which you are

So here I give this gift to you

Not wrapped or displayed

Simply bare letters tapered to a page

Because I know you shall rejoice in simply knowing

Your body of work remains celebrated

What beauty! What glory!

Mais, my poor Apollo, you must understand it is not to offend

But an artist’s plea is only

Commemorated upon burial shroud

And you, Apollo, still charter the black skies

You still inhale the stale air of morning’s wake

Pardon their lacking awe

You must have perspective Apollo!

Hark! I am late

Or, are you early?

Well I must I speak before you tuck in the fire,

As I was

You Apollo, my favorite of painters,

I ascend my admiration and envy to you Apollo

If I were to only shake your hand, may they be not full

But as it be, a beautiful evening

Applause, applause!

Apollo!

I bid you bon soir,

Apollo.