Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Primavera (Botticelli)


It's Spring and Goddesses are with child:
Queen, handmaidens, sisters, all,
Though one may have been defiled.
Not by Cupid, who gets away with Murder,
His arrows inflicting Lover's Pall.
Nor young Mercury with his caduceus
Resisting threats to the Natural Order.
No, suspicion falls on Zephyrus,
Whose puffed cheeks and pallor
Terrify Flora and draw a flower
From her mouth, in mockery of birth.
Venus looks upon us, the Human Races,
With envy, ignored by oblivious Graces.
Primavera drops dry petals to the Earth.

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