Bacchante

Daintily feet sail through lush green meadows,
And flaming lilies balm her lovely eyes.
But tooth and claw she loved for the mad god,
Her fair face entranced by his staff of pine.
That strange staff bringing primeval melody,
And rapturous joy, as she dances freely.
Madness mingles with ecstasy in her soul.
Her head thrown back, as if to shake the sky.

Anguish threatens to unspindle her hair,

Asking scene among the bliss abounding.
Memories in that sea of black churning:
Maddened hands and unkempt eyes preach unworth,
But she sees him riding forth on panthers back
Ambrosia in his locks - mirth of wine,
She smells, for his scent beats mortal frame.
Now, crystal streams flow with milk and honey,
By the wealth of a goddess in her hands,
Rejoicing newfound powers - mad gods gift.

The elation has shattered evening pace,
And the moon appears in brilliant resolve.
He leaves the lovely maiden in golden trails,
As she remembers the yarn of his misfortunes:
Fleeing heaven, parentless wanderings.
And dear Icarius, whose blood ponded,
Like the sweet red drink he taught him to make.
A smile grows on her face, despair groaned,but she roared.