Music's Debt: Owed To The Poet (Poetry)

Time’s boundless seas swell wide their welcome, Horace —
        See how your craft rides high upon the wave.
Words, like ships, translate the changing tides, keep pace
        And sing your songs, still fresh despite the grave.

You’ve cheated Death — your ancient language spoken
        In rhythms that have travelled all this way
While music’s subtle secret is cracked open
        So numbers, ever-constant, rule the day.

Your Latin cast its own classic spell, lasting
        Far longer than a modest mind might guess —
The rise and fall of fated empires passing
        Yet literature survives the sword and stress.

Now history has you marked for fame, Roman,
        Time locked within the tonic sol-fa scale.
Your odes display fine skill — a matchless showman
        Whose lyrics prove such talent will prevail.