Modeled after the Anaktoria Poem by Sappho, translated by Richard Lattimore
Some there are who say that the poorest thing seen
on the bright earth is an array of sailors;
some, men marching; some would say war; but I say
he whom one loves best
is the trickiest. Too easy to see, he
leads them to their heart-worn death, trusting him with
secret hours, moments stolen, hearts given
in the dead of night.
Never suspecting, she gives undivided
thought to a man whose own train is beyond reach.
He will change, she believes, he will be hers once
the time is her own.
Since young girls have hopes too easily bestowed,
men have too easy a frame to fit before
she commits to the echo of a man once
full, now gone away.
And the lovely walk and the shining pallor
of her face is stolen. No more does she walk
with a bounce to her step, but anchored to the
lost thought of his love.
YOU ARE READING
Shorts
Short StoryJust a bunch of stories that probably shouldn't have gone anywhere but my teachers' desks, but ended up here anyway...
