One thing I promise solemnly
To your bright and comely soul,
My guide, my darkest Prince of Hope.
It’s that should you find your Muse
And it happens to be me
That would matter not a bit.
What would fill my heart with joy
Is not the trophy that is given
To the chosen nymph.
But the halo that erupts
Upon the artist’s Fate
When he knows the one
That ultimately chose him first.
While all the others merely
Waited to be seen.
And then because she’s stubborn
She stuck around to grow the seed,
Without the slightest expectation
That she should dominate
The artist’s fantasies.
Our dear Penelope—you see—
She knew that being true
Takes time, to love a worthy one—
Unconditionally.
And thus be free.
(Dorothy Parker didn’t get it right,
If you ask me)
donika emille 