The Tree

12 0 0
                                        

The scent of lilac fills the air 

And Eros stalks his prey. 

The golden god, the maiden fair 

The arrows do not stray, 


Apollo first, the deed is done,  

And love seeps through his veins 

While Daphne's wound burns like the sun, 

For hate makes many pains. 


The chase begins, Apollo's fast,  

The nymph's quick as a deer, 

For just as strong as love spells cast 

Are revulsion, hate and fear. 


Crashes, cries, the river god hears, 

Apollo's almost caught her, 

Then Daphne's words reach the river's ears, 

"Please River, help your daughter!" 


Slender arms to hardened limbs, 

Hair to leaves, fair skin dims. 


As he arrives, Apollo grieves, 

"Sweet nymph, why do you hate me so?" 

The wind comes whistling through the leaves, 

She replies to him, softly, "I don't know."                                                                                                                                          

In The Fields Of HaimaWhere stories live. Discover now