Hey,

This is literally my first ever poem (with the exception of a few limericks back in primary school) and i certainly need help with the structure (or lack there of).

If this poem lends itself to any particular form feel free to clue me in and i can then read up on the appropriate conventions etc. I do want to work on it and get it up to scratch.

Any help is welcome...

Thanks

Dozing by a pasture drowned with poppies,

A careless shepherd dreams,

Of worlds, well beyond his own,

Of fearless knights and maidens fair,

And caves, (withholding mysteries unknown).

While the youth’s mind wanders,

Far from the life he gladly squanders,

Comes a fantastical beast, from a realm

Much like the ones of which he dreams,

Her turquoise eyes were staring,

From a face, cold and uncaring,

Lengths blood red hair unfurled,

Down a body curved and giving,

Aphrodite caught her victim unawares.

And upon waking he is lead, besotted

Down an ever winding path,

Of jagged rocks and twisting roots,

To a grove where the Enchanted Ones do tread.

Alabaster bodies gleaming,

In the dappled sunlight streaming,

Through a canopy of branches, old as time,

He hears the Dryads singing,

As the leaves pick up their tune,

And send it through the forest on the breeze.

All the nymphs dance in a spiral,

To dear Hermes on his lyre,

While Klieo the muse, sits by his side.

Before the young man lays a banquet,

Where Dionysus feasts,

For whom blood and wine flow freely,

Corresponding to His moods.

A warning ever fleeting,

From the figures each retreating,

As Dionysus stands, wild-eyed at the intrusion.

The fury He commands,

Hangs buzzing in the air,

Even the cool breeze has fled His wrath.

But to the ear comes gently, the sweet song

Of Hermes’ fabled pipes,

As the brave beleaguered herald,

Sought to calm the frenzied grove,

(And not an eyelid was left open in his wake.)

When at last the shepherd woke,

Unharmed in the poppy-laden field,

With his flock not far away,

He found himself relieved,

To be of that realm bereaved

And once again, amid a world mundane.

Though he’s sometimes sure he sees,

Peering from between the trees,

A buxom red-haired beauty,

Whispering his name,

The boy could ne’er be tempted,

Back to the banquet table,

In the wild enchanted grove, where Gods oft' do play.