Poetry Tuesday: The Gazelle

By Samuel Ha-Nagid, somewhere at the turn of the millennium. . . 1000AD, not 2000.

I’d give everything I own for that gazelle
who, rising at night to his
harp and flute,
saw a cup in my hand
and said,
“Drink your grape blood against my lips!”
And the moon was cut like a D,
on a dark robe, written in gold.

;o)

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