This one’s a wing, uplifted to the left,
with three curves for its feathers down the arm.
Don’t make it bat-like—make no jagged cleft—
this one does not hold any hint of harm.
For he who wore these wings was very fun.
You’ve met him once or twice before, you know.
He is a very irreverent one,
but with a worship that wards off all woe.
His song was silly, too, and oh so sweet,
and always with that melancholy twinge.
You’d feel both joy and sorrow on repeat
whene’er your ears would be, by his songs, singed.
So make the feeling something soft and kind,
and make his feeling music come to mind.
~~~
This one is easy: just a mountain peak.
And if you want to make it prettier,
put ice caps at the top, just if you seek
to make yourself appear the wittier.
But that’s not how it looked. It isn’t ice
up there, where he once looked out o’er the sea.
It was as cold. He wasn’t very nice,
to anyone or anything but he.
This was his mountain, there from out the waves
it sprung like one fell fang, still as sharp-edged
as when it sunk into all that he craved,
when it was not by cold but by blood dredged.
This one is a reminder of his days:
the times our generation still repays.