Oh Somnus, tell me something,
Why not my Muse in my dreams?
I’d long to see him for anything,
Or at least be with him in the streams.

But alas, other Muses which I never called
Kept on taking me to Lethe.
I’d clasp my hands away from them, and behold,
Be onto Elysian Fields where I can breathe.

I long more for his hands to reach
And take me up for Olympia.
Maybe Hera can permit our breach
For to enjoy a taste of ambrosia.

But what of my Muse, you say,
That inhibits him to see me?
Is he too pure like how we pray,
Or is he really my reality?

Then decree, “Awake, O Sleeper!
Lucifer will show the passage,
And perhaps Aphrodite* will hear you, weeper,
Grants your wish of a love lasting than age.”

So for now, I shall await for my Muse,
Even if Fate* says we’ll meet after a long time.
Then maybe to Hermes* I will fuse.
After all, is sending my blessings to you not a crime?