Hera

Hera Mother of All

Hera, Hera, costume-wearer
Wide thighed mother of all
Grinding grain to make her bread
Weaving out her marriage bed
Distrusts her husband, it must be said

Hera, Hera, costume-wearer
Wide thighed mother of all
Giving her son a bow and arrow
Seeding adventure in his marrow
Armour-clad, he heroically harrows

Hera, Hera, costume-wearer
Wide thighed mother of all
Biding young Vesta tend the fire
Cooking or the corpse’s pyre
Her daughter’s burning but not with ire

Hera, Hera, costume-wearer
Aged deity, withered and dried
Buried soon the ancient bride
In winter’s soil her face to hide
Until next spring, now beautified
Hera appears with graceful stride
Hera, mother of all.

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About crimsonprose

After years as a multi-colour octopus in entertainment, now chilling and writing
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