“The Crocus Gardens of Bramabella” by Pietros Maneos
When the saffron-drawn-dawn dawns upon
the crocus gardens of Bramabella,
The Nymphs of Nysa begin
to play in the quivering light
of the Carolinian Sun.
Threading their tresses with the flourishing filaments:
Filaments painted in crimson
Filaments flecked in vermilion
Filaments bursting with the blood of The Olympians.
As I wander through the estate
in a state of autumnal bliss
kissed by the gentle, generous wind
of The Brushy Mountains,
I am joined by my long-lost-friends:
The stately Saul, The Son of Solarus,
And his gypsy companion, lovely-eyed Saskia,
that fiery young maiden
whose milk-white thighs
inspire the maddening Passions of all Men.
And so for hours accompanied by The Wanderer
and The Wanderess
we harvest the empurpled flowers
blossoming on the breast of the campagna,
while singing the hymns of the pleasant pasture
honoring eternal Nature
with poppies, poetry, and saffron –
Given solely to pagan, pastoral Pleasure!