The Arachne
This is the tale or yarn of one she lures,
below red moon, uncouth, crude sins she fits;
his tarantism he assayed through dance to cure;
Guiled and obliged to her appeals, submits.
Unsure, fair bride, her urge in webs will hide
foolhardy blind, his blood her bite enven'ms;
her soul's eight eyes, his self condemned deride,
Arachne's sense surrounds unlovely phen'ms.
Alarmed, honed instincts act, to deathly cause
recounts his midnight bride, splendid and belle!
Seduced and swayed by horrifying applause;
grotesque her curse, to impose the tarantell'.
Through centuries will dance bedeviled for
............her detrimental need to enamor.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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