Spearhead island, Lindos, Kremasti, lemons and wine grapes,
The fallow deer clamber amidst pine and cypress, In the valley, the Petaloudes, the orange-winged Tiger-moths flutter up, startle, swarm. One tiger-moth dreamt he was the emperor, Awoke to find himself a butterfly, recalled His dream in heavy moments of contemplation, his wings Still, returning in thought to when he could not fly, His sword lay upon his thigh, and he retook The isle. Hic Rhodus, hic salta! Awake, Then, Dodecanese eye, gaze upon The fine flowers of Paradisi, rocky shores Seeded with drachmas, Mycenean necklaces, the pink Hibiscus. Awake, no longer hold the iron sword.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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