In My Still Woods

In my still woods a flute I found

and laid it to my lips to play;

but my five senses choked the sound

and reason led the tune astray.

Then, for its own delight, the flute

piped all creation's mournful wail:

piped the Garden and the Fruit,

piped Helen and the Holy Grail.

                             Rhina P. Espaillat

© Rhina P. Espaillat; reprinted by permission

of the author.