Immortalis amor

Whatever the Gods touch becomes a myth, immortal.
A rock on the wave-swept beach,
a bird high up in a tree,
and yes, even the human heart.
All these the Gods can cause to exist for all time in the memory of man.
This love I feel has its origin in the Golden One,
fair Kypris who dances amid the flowers,
whose light feet cause the green grass to rise up
and whose melodious laughter coaxes the nourishing rain
from the night-dark clouds.
Even if one of the Nine Maidens of Helikon were sitting upon my lap,
stroking my cheek and whispering their honey-sweet words into my ear,
even then I could not begin to sing of the depths of my love,
the intensity with which it has laid claim to my soul.
But I recognize its twin in the stories of old,
Philemon and Baucis who sprouted leaves
so that their fingers would touch forever,
Medeia who fled her father’s home and her precious motherland
for Jason’s tender kisses,
Kleopatra who endured the serpent’s sting
to be reunited with her dear ivy-crowned Antony.
Yes, here in these ancient tales I sense an echo of what I feel for my beloved.
Will men of a future generation remember us in such illustrious company?
If Aphrodite who made all this possible wills it,
it will be so.