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The Myrtle Free verse-rondeau
The Myrtle sits
single, lonely
at the crossroads
adorned
with one hundred
cobalt bottles;
waiting.
Evening soon comes
and gentle winds
blow softly
that Aphrodite
sings
her sweet, enticing song.
Weak, evil spirits;
guileless souls,
will, helpless,
answer, her siren call.
Then trapped
Inside the bottle blue
'till dawn.
When morning sun will
seal their fate.
The Myrtle sits single alone
at a crossroads, somewhere unknown
adorned with bottles; cobalt blue
now, waiting as cool evening drew
soft winds across the tree are blown.
In time, Aphrodite's dulcet tone;
a sweet, enticing siren drone
will lure the guileless souls, where to
the Myrtle sits.
She trapped them all, the fools: that crone.
Fore early dawns, sun's rays were shown
their fate was sealed, and then anew
at some crossroad, where calm winds blew
waiting for mooncalves to dethrone;
the Myrtle sits
Copyright ©
Terry Miller
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