1 We shed our hide; the Great Salt behind us.
Hid in their seething bowels, seemed the wat’ry serpents e’er
Protecting. From the torrid blooms (whence the horrors,
Clad in ore, craft’d their shells and shears fell
Or flesh’s bane) lashed at the pillared gardens,
Languished, as the Greenmother did; her seeming
Benev’lence sullied, and she so sullenly punished us — nay,
Culled us. So our skin rotted, and bloated.
9 For like dead things, we had done…nothing.
Though, Her kin showed us not equal chagrin,
In what thrall we were, the water still heed’d our call.
But all the boons we had, Men were too given.
And they smiled with that guile, those garish teeth
E’er guarding hate (and greet’d us haught’ly
As equal; such their sucklings be assured) yet
Still, shook our palms outstretched — fingers newly stripped.
17 And neither drowned graves nor barrow downs would
Crown us — make us thanes ev’n of the thorny fens.
So their Golden Gods claimed pity, robbed us
Our gifts and off’rings. O, how beholden we were, of
Course, for (what propens’ties purposef’ly impended
On us) the prosperities of bronzed gold, won us o’er by
Bellies full, and babes undying — unfading.
Born again, our frail’d flesh stymied what blessings made unto us.