To see the divine Artemis bathing,
the form of the great huntress
reflected in the cold,
shimmering liquid,
and to run with tiring hooves
chased by your own hounds
through the beloved hunting grounds,
where many a stag and boar
fell to your arrow and spear;
shall we lament this,
the fate that befall to Actaeon,
or note the immortality
his sight of the proud goddess
gave to him? Ever running
through the woods and meadows
where the bees of his father
gather their nectar,
ever feeling the sharp teeth
tearing his flesh as he falls
to the ground, succumbing,
only to once more step to see
the waters of Mount Cithaeron
and Artemis and her maiden host,
once more and ever more,
undying, ever-living, the hunter
and the hunted chasing life.
25.08.2020
#Poem #Poems #Poetry
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