Quiet days in sunlit rooms overlooking Ægean
Sea, sailing ships and fishermen, sweet solitude
Amongst clouds, caring for my son, Demetrios,
Newborn at my breast, child I prayed for at
Temple steps, offerings flowers and figs to
Demeter, her voice I heard, stirrings within my
Womb, maiden Thera, I was child-conceived.
Within his dark eyes, Demeter’s light speaks to
Me, mother and son, loving bonds beyond time
And Attic pasturelands. What things do I foresee
For him, less so for me? My body was life-giving
Vessel, quickening flesh and blood, suckling at
Milk-filled breasts, precious moments shared,
Mortal-divine and enduring.
Tomorrow, we mingle amongst shepherd’s fields,
Rustic rites he knows within his marrow, golden
Guardian of flocks, wheat fields, and olive groves,
His young presence in goddess’ stead. Happy are
Those who believe such mysteries. Rich-crowned
Am I with my son, reverence and deep awe, his
Blessings of sun, rain, fertile fields sewn.
Those things seen are not oft understood, machina-
Tions of gods with Thera, chaste Greek maiden, child
Born in springtime, protection of sunlit room, not
Isle of Naxos raised, yet needs of Demeter’s faithful,
Farmers and shepherds, were fulfilled. Sing praises
To Earth Mother, “She of the Grain” provides, her
Son, Demetrios, brings life to winter-dormant fields.
Closing comments at the end of this poem became last stanza.