For Hyacinthus day

he gave me a syrinx made of carefully cut reeds,

bonded with white wax which tastes sweet to my lips like honey.

He teaches me to play, as I sit on his lap;

but I am a little fearful.

He plays it after me, so gently that I scarcely hear him.

We have nothing to say, so close are we one to another,

but our songs try to answer each other,

and our mouths join in turn on the flute.

It is late;

here is the song of the green frogs that begins with the night.

*the song of the green frogs*

My mother will never believe I stayed out so long to look for my lost sash.