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Just like Farnese’s birds, whose voices became caught
on an unchanging view of palaces in ruin,
you fell into a dream: one of rivers that ran
with sentimental ease before your family seat.
But left to choose, you changed the eternal for light,
where gifted canon’s robes allowed your mind to turn
from thoughts of chimney smoke and gardens seldom seen,
the limestone of your end betraying words of slate.
The Fleece still hangs unclaimed, yet slowly I’m pulled back
to forest-covered hills and hard volcanic rock,
unsure of how the tide has brought me to this shore.
Your counsel holds no truth for sailors who have come
to crave the open sea, when mesmorized by fame
you never knew the life you claimed to hold so dear.
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52|250 A Year of Flash 
Marvelous! I was so proud of my little poem ’til I read this. “Your counsel holds no truth for sailors who have come to crave the open sea,” Thank You for sharing and Happy National Poetry Month.
This was wonderful. Reminds me of Shelly’s Ozymandias. :)
This poem goes to show how much can be packed into a few well structured and well chosen words. What a good opening, it pulls you into the poem with a rush to discover what is going to happen! And such fine progression with the excellent denouement “Your counsel holds no truth for sailors who have come/ to crave the open sea”. I’m not surprised Tom is so admiring – this is such an elegant piece.
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