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7

The goddess has died.
She has become a lake isle where
the green pikes of crocus pierce
snow crusts of the sun god.

Snowdrops droop under a weight of white.
Stylosae open their ice blue flowers.
Jonquils light up for her for whom
votaries carrying offerings come.

Her hounds hounded him through the olive trees
over the stony slopes where each step he
crushed thyme or sage.
Foam flecked his sides.
He clashed higher over the loose stone until he stood
up by the snow on Olympus.