Alcmene

I do not know you, my friend,
As the one who traced the line
Of my prologues like a vine,
Eve to eve, and end to end.
I only know you as the one
Who caught my thunder while it turned
And plucked its pallid peals, which yearned
For light like apples of the sun.
In another life, we’ll meet
When I’ve no thunder in the heart
And there’s no clamour in the street.
Time will unthrill the thrills by art,
And we will get to hear the beat
Of heart – like wings as they depart.