Somewhat of a Sonnet for Penelope
I feigned madness, rather than leave your side.
The tiny child tangled his hands in my cloak
But there were wars and kings, and pride
and we were swept to sea with the battle smoke
My Faithful one, you weave the burial shroud for me
meanwhile our tree weaves it's branches upwards
through twenty tortured moons, and would I could be
turning this ship 'round and sending it bedwards
O, that the gods would finally look down
and save me from myself, my men, and dreams
of suitors that trouble thee, discover thy secrets, follow you 'round.
Athena will bear witness, I am a thread, frayed at the seams
Disguised, a beggar at your feet crouching in the gloom
I will again string the bow, and your loom.
Ten more days.