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The Satyrs

Olive leaves,
ancient spirits,
your hoofs danced
from Attica to Crete.
Playing your flute
and dancing with
nymphs, dryads, and fauns.
Half men, Half beasts
but more man than Centaurs.
You danced across Elysian fields,
for you, Gaea's children,
can partake of her harvest.
The muses praised
your flowing music
but Apollo punished you
for your inspiration.
Still you danced as
Aeolus released the east winds.
Helios sent down burning rays
upon your forehead as
you danced at the foot
of Mount Olympus or
overheard the rants
of the Oracle at Delphi.

Long after the Titans
have been forgotten,
you watched the son
of Semele become a
god of the vine.
You danced with Dionysus
and his frenzied Maenads.
With Pan and Dionysus
You played your flute
And drank great wine
For you are Gaea's Children
And can partake of her harvest.
You danced as Helots
revolted and cities warred.
You danced as Persia
took Thrace and when
Athens battled Sparta.
Your hoofs left imprints
on the beaches of the
Aegean Sea as the
Macedonians invaded and as
Roman soldiers marched in.
Why do you still dance when
the Old World is all myths?

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