Lucca Daniel Green 02 November 2019 An afternoon heat sizzling iridescent, the sky shimmers in Hyperion’s gaze. O Helios, magnificent to see in your gaze high overhead nine maidens resplendent dance a memorious chorus intricate of step in circles spun crosswise. The lyre-clad son of Leto radiantly attends, his steps in time ever forward. And in their midst astride, this poet, a sight rather unseen; at his heel, his lykos-born comrade, eyes alight prancing onward. This rough-shod mortal listens raptly to the music of the nine, Zeus’ daughters of mnemonic Memory, to his memorious queens attending. Spear-wielding aigis-bearing Athena, the maiden clad in helmet and iron daughter of a king and of Cunning, leaps down from Olympos’ heights alive to their choral invitation. The glaucous-eyed goddess leans spear, shield and towering plume against a long-enduring oak groaning below beneath the weight. “My patron queen, you’ve come!” calls our poet, delighted by her sight whose aid he most needs as ever. “Silly thing,” the goddess laughs, her greeting, “I am everywhere. Now let us dance, my beautiful, and let it all go.”
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