Diana, a poem

Diana

Coins

Of golden sunlight,

Pools of green,

Dapple her skin like

A fawn's

As she runs

Through the glade.

Points

Of silver arrows

Flash in the quiver,

Rattle in their case like

The shards

Athenians scratched 

To vote.

Cries

Of startled birds 

Fly up into the blue;

Her arc

Is in her hand,

An arrow notched

And ready.

Pebbles

Scatter, wet and gleaming,

As her golden-sandalled foot

splashes in the brook,

A warning

To the prey

She seeks.

Tears

Sparkle on her cheeks

Like angry diamonds,

Splash onto sunburned arms 

And dusty knees;

Weary she returns

To her garden.

Stars

Begin to prick

The violet dusk;

Bathed and clean

She sits in the fragrance

Of evening jasmine, henna, myrrh,

Under a crescent moon.

And he comes

To her there

In the secret place,

Tiny brazen hooves and silver horn,

pushing his velvet nose

Into the hollow of her neck,

Bowed in prayer.

Caroline Lawrence 1998

Nothing is lost! This poem I wrote in 1998 bore a kind of fruit nearly 20 years later when I did a re-telling of an ancient Roman tale for Barrington Stoke. Virgil's tragic Camilla story is found scattered out of order in books 7 and 11 of The Aeneid. I tried to put it in order and fill in the blanks. Queen of the Silver Arrow is written in simple prose for reluctant or dyslexic teen readers. But although the vocabulary is easy enough for a 7-year-old to read, some of the themes and images are better suited to children 11+