Non Nostrum

"Non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites . . ."

---Vergil, Eclogues, III


[Palaemon, loquitor, to Narcissus]


Bucolic poems proclaim earth's seasons, and love's phases.
But in the convolutions of your shattered mind,
you count shadows that lurk there:  using others' phrases,

you give expression to your tedious malaises.

You think that you are making epic catalogues---
but sing sinking sands or stinking mire in old bogs.

The curve of inspiration leaves your scribs behind.


"Frigidus -o pueri, fugite hinc- latet anguis in herba . . ."

---Vergil, op. cit. supra



Author's Notes/Comments: 

In the last line, I have used the term "scribs" for "scribbles."

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