Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Tribute to Seven Wise Men

I breathe an exquisite soft sigh,
Exhaling spent breath from my chest.
My eyes drift down the stele,
The redoubtable end of my quest.

Carved with care, yet varied in size,
The wisdom of ages prevails -
In Greek, on stone, weathered by years;
I can almost hear Solon's hails.

"Know Thyself," and "Nothing in Excess,"
Say the venerable and primeval words.
"Surety begets ruin," and so many more
That fill the sun-bleached thirds.

With painstaking care, I begin
To copy the letters I see:
'These wise commandments of men of old,"
To Hellene, new and old, are the key.

(c) 2 Apr 2008 Allyson Szabo
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