To Leuconoë
—AFTER HORACE, ODES 1.11

You should not ask
the gods what end
they’ve given you and me,
for it is wrong to know.

Nor should you ask
the stars. Better
to take things as they come,
whether there are many winters

left, or if this one
is the last, which just now
pounds the sea
on giant cliffs of stone.

If you are wise,
strain your wines and cut
short far-reaching hopes.
Life is brief—

as I speak the seconds go—
hold on to
day, think little
of tomorrow.

Copyright © 2009 Erica McAlpine All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission