Proteus

[finncullen]

 I, as I woke the other day,
Recalled a dream my face was clay
That I could smooth it all away 
And start again

And then of course my waking mind
Explored the dream, to try to find,
What face I could have redesigned
In such a way

Should I craft a lover's eyes
Gentle, yearning, drawing sighs,
Or gleaming, scheming parting thighs
For sportive play?

Or should I carve a regal brow,
Patrician, potent, showing how 
A god strode among mortals now
With power plain

Or should I change it hour by hour
Now smiling joy, now dismal glower,
Now saintly bliss, now lust for power
All on a whim

Thank God this dream can never be
I cannot choose what they shall see
For each new man would not be me
So I remain