But faint, she rises from the waxing gloom—
On scalloped, half-shell barque borne on grey seas;
Waves waked by Zephyr’s breath, blown to a spume,
Deliver her to shore with graceful ease.
Awaiting on the sands, fair Horae Spring
Holds forth a flowered robe to cloak her form;
On fainter breath, sweet virgin Aura sings,
While roses ‘round her golden tresses swarm.
So bright she shines from off that mythic shore,
A sight more lustrous than the brightest star;
With skin of alabaster, polished pure,
No mortal dream could match her by compare.
A lock of gold transgresses there her thighs—
Transfixed, I bask ‘neath Botticelli skies.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.