Cassandra caught Apollo’s stare,

A beauty of the highest rank,

And when the sun god touched her hair,

She felt the heat from which she shrank.

His mortal form showed dark bronze skin,

And curly hair of golden glow.

His eyes betrayed the fire within,

Of wanton lust for that fair ho.

His offer, she could not refuse,

To know her for a single night,

For any gift that she dare choose.

In this, she chose a prophet’s sight.

But when Apollo’s kiss did burn,

She felt that mortal fear of death.

The sun god sensed the maiden’s spurn,

Then cursed beneath a fiery breath.

“The gift a god, in life, bestows,

Cannot, in life, be taken back.

This gift, one mortal only knows.

A gift that is a curse, in fact.”

She told them of the wooden steed.

And of the threat that lurked inside.

But no one paid her any heed,

Because they thought she always lied.

Then as the walls of Troy went down,

She saw her own fate on that day.

A slave, brought to a Grecian town,

Slain by a jealous woman’s blade.

A drama for the gods to see,

And of a debt that was not paid.

Cassandra’s truth had set her free.

She lied, whereas, she should have laid.

end

Mr. E. Bates is a poet who likens the quest for love to a foxhunt, in which it is the chase and not the kill that appeals.