Syrinx by the River Ladon

Look where she flies, fleet-footed Syrinx,
Her chiton drenched, her sole bruised.
See the stalks that kiss her calves,
Bend to embrace, then spring back:
Green as the nymph, slender as she,
Fragile flutes and ankle-bones.
She thinks to hide her in a reed;

But she has always been a reed,
Always shown the promise of instruments.
She has been brittle; she has dreamed
Of the god's hand to splinter her,
And craft of tatters, beauty and music;
Awaits the lover of earthen nails
To put his mouth on her, his life's breath in her,
And make her broken body sing.