One wishes one princely revelries.
Myths making meaning, from antiquity, forever –
Orpheus and Eurydice, a favourite Greek treasure.
Records attest to Calliope’s pheromonal son.
Radiant, he plucked the lyre and bewitched everyone.
“
I, li-la-li, live as I’ll die, alone in the end.
She was killed on our wedding day, a snake-bite,” he keened.
“
Singing, I forged her release from Hermes’ barred Underworld;
Eurydice! Sorry! I looked back before dry land!
Years of refusal yawn, my fingers cradling loose sand.”
Some millennia on – bam! – Orpheus erupts again
Protesting in voice quietening sirens, remembering when.