THE CENTAURESS

At dusk I bathe within the cooling pool,
My dainty hooves step softly in the silt,
And as the curlews cry, my head atilt,
I wash my raven hair and softly mewl.
My grief is for that brave, strong human boy,
And as I wash my breasts and gleaming flanks,
I think of him who loved me on these banks.
He was my one true love, my life, my joy!

He told me I was lovely. I was sleek.
He thought me a proud goddess in disguise.
He brushed my flanks until my knees grew weak,
Held me softly and gently kissed my eyes.
Then he left, the great art of war to learn,
And so I weep for he did not return.

--Michael Fantina--