A cheek turned from harsh preference, guided by a wandering eye,
the child, at dusk, stomached a golden chariot cross the sky.
She’ll remember so far back, the fear instilled of ‘way out there’,
which fertilised her planted feet; they grew roots and sang a prayer,
in all the tones of Zeus (aggression, numbness, and despair),
who could only hand down a chronic frown to his youngest heir.

At the summit of Mount Olympus, the girl’s maturity grew,
the horizon was now lying before her, no longer distant; on a skyline she studied and could confidently say she knew.
She would even call her a friend, sharing a commonness in their stagnancy,
and when the night came, the horizon held onto the warmth of light for the girl, maternally.
A golden ring simmered every dusk, as the chariot left the air,
a jewel the horizon welcomed the girl to wear.