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Sonnet – On his Muse Passing Her Driving Test

(Dedicated to LM)

The poets of three thousand years have praised
Apollo’s chariot. They sing its gold,
Its adamantine axles capped and raised
With amethyst and gems that all enfold
The colours of the morning. The god will drive
It on no common road, like us, below,
But raise it up towards the sky, and strive
Where clouds and icy exhalations blow,
And still beyond, the traces of the stars,
The lunar course, that passing over sea
And continents it far outshines and bars
The other lights of heaven’s majesty.
And yet to sing the Sun God’s car I spurn:
I’d rather praise my Muse’s three-point turn.