I hear the Muses singing
in rare moments of grace
in the fleeting Cantor dusts of respite
from the tone-deaf daily pace.
I had written down the melody,
though I cannot now recall
just where it is or how it went
or if it exists at all.
The Teddy Bears of youth that from
more fearsome fores descended
attest that I, like myths, like them
am less than I intended.
Daniel M. Dobkin