When they put him on trial,
he plead with the gods and judges,
she asked for it—begged
they turned their sneers to her:

What were you wearing?

When he dragged her to hell, 
and Spring vanished with the stars, 
rumors spread like legs
pried apart
And while she burned in that
fiery cage,
her Mother wept
and the Olympians criticized:

You should have raised her better. 

The seasons became one,
the sun blazed in the sky,
and everything pretty
withered with her
as they realized 
that Spring was lost—
never to return—
and without her
the world would
burn
burn
burn. 

And still,
no one searched
no one saw
all that was clearly on display.
None thought it strange
that birds no longer sang—
only mentioned how beautiful
it must be
to be immortalized—
an unwitting idol
for young girls to see,
whisked away to place
she never wanted to be. 

Her nos fell on deaf ears.
She wanted it,
he said—

but tell us this, gentle men—

why would we have wanted something
that left us

dead