And he found Her
Kalliope...
With journeys of Her
Painted smooth
On Her face...
And Her golden black hair...
Had so many poems held...
There
There
She sat quiet
On a stony rock
Watching the dawn-
Holding a tablet
And a stylus...
As if by newest light reborn...
Complete in Her absorbed state
For Her son Orpheus
Picking Nature's Honey... the best...
As dripped from Zeus...
Her father...
And he found Her
Statue like
Oblivious of Her own self...
Weaving only weaving lore...
Epic magic as on Her like
Golden flakes from Heaven poured...
(The photograph below was taken by me once at Botanical Garden, Shibpur, Howrah,)
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