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To Phoebus
Phoebus, in our joint venture, I find no means,
For our journey through the heavens is so short;
And yet so long have we been in this fixed state.
We are in eternal eclipse, I feel not one with you.
From this view on earth we seem not the leader of muses,
Rather we appear as if your dismal uncle drunk on Lethe.
So, we appear on earth to all who lack knowledge of our form;
But I believe there are those who see rays escape Luna's grasp,
Those who know some day this will wane into summer's eve.
It is hope of such, even more so of her, we travel on now.
And she, she who unknowingly muses for our lyre,
She hunts the northern woods without thoughts of love.
For she is that she is, and will find that orchard,
Once she has run through fields of lily and thistle.
So I await the day she will return to our orchard,
Then together we may forget the day is not so bright;
For by the whispering brook or meadow we will amble,
Together, guided by the night's pure and serene light.
Then the day will come when I will shine in the heavens,
And she, with fierce hair and lunar skin, the same on earth.
-Neill Torna
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