Cassandra Cassandra sits, basin of water close by Idly stirring, images appear to disappear Beneath her languid gaze She'd like to tell of the wonders she sees If it weren't such a bootless task Oh Cass, what was it like to be courted Treated greater than a goddess When your godly suitor came a-calling On you, sitting in your father's palace And your lover's words seemed to fill it. He's gifting you Cass, like any lover would do Only a god isn't just any lover And neither are his gifts That scrying glass you toy with, The gift of prophecy to use it. They still talk of you, Cassandra Of your beauty, of your pride And that smile that Apollo must have loved Was it hubris that let you reject his suit? Oh Cass, what was it that led you here? And so Cassandra still sits, a scrying glass at hand She's had centuries to watch and reflect and think Are you sorry Cass? For what you've become You predict our dooms so accurately but Apollo's final gift prevents us from believing (until it's too late for believing or doing) Copyright 1998 Cateline de la Mer 
 
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