The Myrtle Free verse-rondeau

The Myrtle sits single, lonely at the crossroads adorned with one hundred cobalt bottles; waiting. Evening soon comes and gentle winds blow softly that Aphrodite sings her sweet, enticing song. Weak, evil spirits; guileless souls, will, helpless, answer, her siren call. Then trapped Inside the bottle blue 'till dawn. When morning sun will seal their fate. The Myrtle sits single alone at a crossroads, somewhere unknown adorned with bottles; cobalt blue now, waiting as cool evening drew soft winds across the tree are blown. In time, Aphrodite's dulcet tone; a sweet, enticing siren drone will lure the guileless souls, where to the Myrtle sits. She trapped them all, the fools: that crone. Fore early dawns, sun's rays were shown their fate was sealed, and then anew at some crossroad, where calm winds blew waiting for mooncalves to dethrone; the Myrtle sits