Apollo, pensive, in a reverie, stood,
Lustrous, in his silken hood.
When suddenly, birds’ cries rent the air;
His thoughts – snuffed out by their shrill prayer.
He looked up as the Lady of the Night approached.
He looked on, as she, upon his land, encroached.
Like the calm before a storm, his face spoke of
As Night came on, with her cloak of gloom
A tempest raged on in his mind.
On his face, no trace of this could one find.
Artemis arrived, answer to his silent pleas.
They stood, together, watching the birds flee.
Through it all, The Painter’s brush, boldly flew.
And the colours steadily trickled into view.
Amidst this confusion, the Wind seemed to dance.
And still, the Lady grimly advanced.
Into formation moved the clouds;
And still she approached, without a sound.
Soon, arrows of fire shot across the sky,
But the Lady swatted them away, like mere flies.
Then came the Angels, on the Wind’s wings.
Heaven’s peacekeeping force was coming.
The twinly power continued to shake the sky,
As Night and Day, for supremacy, vied.
And then it was that Apollo fell.
The rebellion had finally been quelled.
Ouranos laid down a carpet, truly red
For the fallen hero to tread.
The Lady weaved a web of darkness,
And made black, a once colourful canvas.
But Artemis alone continued to shine,
Lighting the sky with powers truly divine.