Apollo's lyre, though honest and true,
Had lay weak to his wrists, and then the god who
Brimming with passion, pride and well,
Dionysos had asked him, "Apollo, pray tell--
"why does sadness, hold you?" and so,
With a weak smile did Apollo show;
At the sight of his lover, his chords, he played,
Until the beauty shuddered with ecstasy then fade.
In such Awe, Did Dionysos hold,
His brother, his friend, and to his lover, told;
"I will never abandon thee, so tell:
Why for a moment, your muse had fell?"
Apollo shook his head, fingers tracing the male
And he spoke such honesty, without a moment's fail:
"No grace has pressed me to create such essence:
"Music's beauty is only truly played, with your presence."

- N.C