Syllabub

SYLLABUB

No, do not talk to me, I will not listen.

I kowtow not to your gross intellect .

My nose , red raw , rubbed tender , flesh torn .

By words which mean nought .

I have not the language .

I too could have attained the heights ,

ignored backgrounds , time taken instilled the classics .

Univited -- Wandered those hallowed halls .

Marble portals drawing me in , enthralled .

Such knowledge was denied to me .

Plato , Socrates , Heracleteitus remain undiscovered .

So have your day ,

weave filgree patterns along the way .

My paltry Minerva leave far behind .

But do not talk to me .

I will not listen . . .

* * *

A Rostov
1999.