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The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twelve

As one solstice surrenders its last gasp of warmth to winter
The Lady of the Lake’s icy grip tightened over her
Still yon Dreamer of the Deep blew smoky wisps over coiffure
While rodents and rabbits scurried through warrens to stock their            
                  lair
All night the scowling harpy gusts scoured her furry skin
Bourrasque après bourrasque pour bourrasser la Dame sans fin
Slates of icy hail jabs slammed into her tortured sickened flesh
Whiplash after whiplash thundered into her tender skin

For what crime Gorgon-headed harpies come to make her pay
For what sin or debt of karma centuries cannot repay
Window shutters shook and shuddered by wildly whining winds
Is there no remorse fit for her vengeance from this mournful day

Whoever cuts this life short must to the sexton explain
If his judgement at the time was less than willingly plain
A man once jumped into the water arguing out rescuers
Or was it the Lady of the Lake with hungry hands of rain

Now weeping willow lemon yellow leaves litter her face
And the bare frilly lindens’ have turned the sod to fudgy lace
Along her belly brittle branches collect the year’s regrets
As Ol’ Khayyam’s astir in his tent with the wine of disgrace!
		© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

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