Poem: Phadeo

[selket531]

The glorious youth turned from the basket seller,

forgetten, the violets wet with dew scattered, 

left behind upon the white marble steps

as he heard heaven's doors open 
at the sound of the burnished voice,
that spoke and thus smote his past
freeing him thereon from all restraint. 

 

 

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I have always been fascinated by Phadeo, and wrote this poem to honor him.
 Lysis.  
1/13/15