Drenched in body, taken hold in spirit
Sagging and drooping her skin,
Scanty the white scalp with sparse hair.
Soft and feeble, there she stands
Staring and staring into the abyss,
The mirror she searches for answers.
The years have been long and slow
Death is a friend; she feared the sickle no more.
Oh Apollo the benevolent curser!
Immortality his boon, age his bane,
Left a desire turned sour.
Fanciful vanity long over.
Dagger shining bright, the nymph
The throat she slit, now festooned on decay.
Drip, drip, drip it falls, the manna,
This dew from the shrine of death.
Ecstasy, as though the final thrust
Of the titan reducing her to convulsions.
Red the bowl, red her lips
The taste of the elixir her mouth receives.
This oracle she owned, crystal bowl showed clear.
The gown she drops, her body to revere;
Behold her slender waist and her sultry demeanour!
Beauty regained, youth restored, triumphant her demonic endeavour.