This poem provided the title of a collection of poems, written in the 1970s, that was put together in an unsuccessful attempt to win a prize:
Mythic Passions
Did
I come onto the scene
decently
clothed and smiling?
That
was my little lie.
I
was really a sleep-shagged beast,
down
from the mountains,
sniffing
for springtime.
I
dreamt the history of the race
in
my rock-bound slumber.
And
if I play the game,
speaking
of well-trimmed lawns
and
sunlit, blossomy gardens,
know
that my true keep is the forest maze.
My
boundaries run from this tree
to
that rock
to
the sea.
Enter
and
the way out is yours
to
find.
Would
you like to test
my
nature?
Feel
the beard of my face.
Measure
its rasp against that of my cunning.
When
I dream I plot.
Call
me Snare-Beauty, Crush-Lovely:
by
sinew and fang,
I’ve
got you now, my Sweet.
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