Hot Apollo

Toronto's Shiniest Rock-and-Roll Band

Interior Mirror

On argent peak, an arbor sways

And cloaks the mountain with its verd.

It hides its home from daylight's rays.

Behind its boughs, no sound is heard.


A private sky neath leafy dome

Lurks always on the edge of night,

And stars like secrets freely roam

Mid lofty branch in gracious flight.


The trunk in silent glory stands

As colours run along its height

In vivid shades and vaguer strands

That play upon a plane of white.


Upon the bole are symbols borne

That ward the glade from sun's purview.

Beneath the bark, dim marks adorn

A surface of a darker hue.


A tale of other lands they show

In shapes not carved by mortal will.

They move about with silent skill

And tell of all the world below.

Copyright © 2011, Jaymes Buckman and David Aaron Cohen. All rights reserved. In a good way.