#127
The Gods made her, the first woman, adding
A quality that Each held dear, which she
Never understood, not knowing her mind.
They found her indifference maddening,
So, out of spite, They also made her free,
And invented for her a double bind.
They made her alone, but full of desire
For something she could not identify;
A thing made of smooth pliant clay and mire,
She dreamed of caressing, not knowing why.
Taking pity, the Gods granted a rebirth,
An object to resolve her paradox.
Pandora did not loose Evil on earth,
But eagerly freed mankind from its box.
