Tuesday, December 03, 2019


mē pŏsitō pŭdĕat dēsuescĕrĕ pangĕre plectrō


mē pŏsitō pŭdĕat dēsuescĕrĕ pangĕre plectrō
     carmĭnă, frūstrāta est Mūsa relictă sĭtū
ast rĕvŏcārĕ dĭū lătĭtantēs pectŏre causās
     jam libeat: nam nōn pungit ămārus Ămor.


Let me feel shame at growing unaccustomed to writing songs, 
my guitar pick put aside; 
the Muse frustrated, left behind in the dust.
Ah, but let it please me to recall the causes, 
long hidden in my heart,
For now bitter love doesn't prick.

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