by Isabelle Spurrier
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Rated "G" by the Author.
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The unparalleled beauty of the moon
Rises from its silvery spring;
Clothed in verdant ripple of
Forested light, and water, and skin
She stands unashamed as the
Breeze dries her pale flesh
And the dawn slowly dies.
The clandestine hunter crouches low,
His pack of hounds screened by the trees.
As he watches, breath caught and held
By divinity revealed in a shimmer of
Morning dew and glorious heat.
He shifts, cranes to the side,
Craves the unobtainable, and sighs.
A movement, a noise, and her eyes
Snap to the grove of guardians that
Blindly guards the sanctity of her bath.
The goddess reacts; the hunter retreats
Into the terrfied stag, bolting to the heath
And then the dogs are upon him,
With unknowing savagery in their cries.
Blood on the flowers,
Death on the path.
Silence descend to conceal
The moon's solitary bath.
The hunter is hunted
By the goddess' terse wrath.