Phedon

                Among the idle useless matters
                your face had given sign of spleen.
               No Plato‘s folios, no letters.
               What is the drug that’s hidden in?

               
              Oh, my Fhedon, don’t be so timid,
              set our brimmers in a line!
              You, Gorgy- father of decline!
              Your proud reason has no limit.


               Who was a slave at demo’s fests?
                The strategist for love decisions?
                Provisional among provision’s,
               what hero’s ethics shall they test?


               The muse’s voices are so tender.
               The sign of goddesses in not» real politic”.
               The point of Spirit is the God blessed member!
               You are in the right, but even more so –intrigue!

               The hope of the rhymes, you will elect,
                but not the subject of a jokers jest!