Poetical Birds

“Arma Virumque Cano,” a tunic clad poet sings. A green wreathe rests on his head; a small wooden lyre rests on his knee. Around him, people watch. A patrons lie on a dozen couches which line the walls; the poet sits in a single chair in their midst. Behind him a tapestry hangs on the wall. The cloth displays a fleet of ships rolling through stormy water. One of the ships rolls down the waves so and men fall over its prow. On another the wave casts a ship up into the air it’s keel freed from the watery depths. The sky, painted in an array of gray and silver threads sparkles in the fire light just as the crackle of lightning illuminates a stormy sky.

“Musa, mihi causas memora,” the poet’s voice strengthens as the music speeds up. Everyone in the room listens to him. Dressed in tunics and togas these statesmen and their wives sit in utter silence, as the poet’s voice fills the hall. The remains of a feast is spread out before them. A platter of grapes and grape vines lie on a small table. The bones of a dozen different animals sit on one plate. An idle hand picks at a bowl of nuts.

“Urbs antiqua fuit, Karthago,” the poet calls out, his voice slow now, his words beating to the notes of the lyre. The windows high up are cast in a smoldering red and the darkness fills the air. Fires flicker in casting the tapestry above in shifting lines of light. The patrons’ faces dim and brighten as a slow breeze rolls through the room and the flames flicker. The poet’s face is cast in ever shifting shadows, and the lyre’s notes ring through the empty hall. The sound of the ancient poem drew in two finches from a far. Sitting upon the windowsill they gaze down at him, and so enraptured they were with his voice that they dare not speak fearing to mar the poet’s sweet song.