The Last Post (A Georgic Blog Epilogue)

—Thus I sang the fields of change, the flocks of self,/While Tsar Trump thundered war across a continent...

Bucolic III

Gentle, the fields, slowly, eating the bones,/Blood drinking, men upon them, new, compete,/Goat bone, sheep blood too, gently now and slow...

the wand of sage Wergilius/turns many a magic trick...

Phoebus descends on Megara, beats down/the crops with his coming...

Tityrus lounges in the shade,/Bees lullaby the sleepy glade,/The reed sings soft, soft as the grass—/Then Meliboeus comes to pass...

I read Homer and have a thought/Perhaps that Plato also had...

You who enjoy the famed pastoral form/Might like this ode on Facebook, blue and warm...