RESURRECTION OF TIME NOW DEAD
BY A POET GOING BLIND, 86
 
Who was my parent before mammals evolved?
Helen of  Tory, Leda's daughter, was born out an egg,
 
But her progenitor was only a fake swan, a god.
Was mine a prototype of a red headed woodpecker?
 
No, I would today be a drummer, or a player
In the tympani section of a symphony orchestra.
 
Could be an ancestor of a rat with fine poetic fur,
But with a style maligned by sellers of rat poison?
 
Was it one of  those small animals that look like
The beard of  Peter Bembo and talked about Platonic love?
 
No, because, if so,  my walls, would be filled with, instead
Of a Winter Haven girl, pictures of  Beatrice d'Este.
 
Perhaps, it was a Giant Tortoise with a design
On back of his shell. No, I would have painted like Paul Klee.
 
No, no, no, I'll never know.

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