Poetess of the Month

Sappho


Although they are

Although they are
only breath, words
which I command
are immortal






Blame Aphrodite

It's no use
Mother dear, I
can't finish my
weaving
You may
blame Aphrodite

soft as she is

she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy






I took my lyre

I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument