Three Versions

Take one   [sonnet]

I set out riding once at dusk, by bike

riding a cemetery’s tranquil trails.

God’s wonders peeking forth from evening veils

I mused along vague themes:  Life—and suchlike…

Rounding one swift curve a vision assailed:

three nubile maids in nylon, fresh from the pool.

passing this trinity, I—the mad fool,

Beheld three graces; reverie prevailed.

Midst sepulchers I wondered at such sights…

Was I Paris?  dazzled by their beauty,

my mind’s eye grew distracted in duty.

The resurrection glimpsed: angelic sprites !

(the third go-by my thoughts fell down to earth;

carnal, I scanned their suits of flesh for worth…)


Take two  [rhymed couplets]

While I rode out one summer eve through a cemetery’s peaceful  cheer
I chanced upon three suburban maids in Lycra swimming  gear
fresh from the pool among the tombs… or fresh from the tombs to revisit earth?
Arrested now my thoughts, I passed in resurrected beauty’s birth.
My sight and mind strange tricks did play. I couldn’t believe my eyes
amidst the dead, upon green paths, I lingered on their graceful thighs.
I pedaled fast and asked the Lord: what brings such lovely damsels here?
Around I rode, then passed again. As visions surged, the heavens drew near.
A little further now they’d strayed from where I first had seen them. Then
their brightening smiles stopped time.  And so I passed them yet again…
Distracted now from holy thoughts  I mused upon their girlish faces
[Thus Paris faltered before the three, confusing goddesses with graces]
What led them thus to flit so much alive among the verdant graves?
A thousand questions surged that verged on blasphemy. Still Paris raves
of lissome bodies on the grass, the bright-eyed smiles of lovely lasses
naive in nylon innocence, like Botticellian trespasses
But they were simply walking home, and took a shortcut through the grave
and they were young, but now I’m old—and a dying renaissance knave.

Take three

Early dusk graveyard:

Three nubile girls, wet swimsuits

Life resurrected 

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