LYRIC FOR SALE

By IOANNIS

In a distant mythic land
Down through the echoes of times
A woman weaved magnificent and true
Entering the gods domain

Her talent was unparalleled
Her spirit soared the skies
Ascending far beyond the mortal realm
Attracting godly eyes

Across the land her name was heard
Her skills no one could deny
She weaved and weaved until her fingers bled
Her fate was sealed
Her eyes they multiplied

A humble figure approaches her
A woman poor and unattractive
And warns her of her audacious deeds
You shall not weave sublime no more
The gods they’ve taken notice

Foul woman begone
Why shall I forsake my talents
Why would the gods attempt to strip me of my gift
I weave until I’ve weaved my finest

The figure stripped away the rugged clothes
Her eyes were sharp and wide open
Her frame to the sky it rose
Her godly pride was crushed and broken

She hissed and cursed
Her spite directed at the weaver
With arms you shall weave no more
And turned her limbs as thin as threads
And from your weaves you’ll hang so forth
And you shall never weave this fine