The Huntress
Diana be her name, I yet don't know
A huntress though she feints her prey I'd be
As sure she swoops deep down that vale of snow
I let her trail the track in back of me.
To snare the ill is here a trait I sense
As quick' I speed through copse both hill and dale.
Her vision pierces through the thickets dense
And I just let her think I might be frail.
Her pace she quickens as a bolt of light
And I just let her grab her potioned dart.
But as she's closing near and time's quite right
I turn and let the arrow pierce my heart.
And now, dear huntress, sure the hour is yours
To let the potioned pistol turn its course.
Austerlitz, NY
19 July 2009