To Apollo

Oh! The god who plays upon the lyre

May see the world burn upon a pyre.

Twisting verse and beauteous prose

For the, Intricacies of life, he knows.

Riddling and musing like in days of old

Awaiting the day for a poet to unfold,

Every mystery and forgotten tale.

There Apollo waits in verdant vale

With hair the color of molten sunlight

Stirring every man to delight

The image does not belong to me