‘Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.’ – W.B. Yeats
Thou shalt bear the fruit of love
Thous shalt bear the fruit of passion
Thou shalt bear the fruit of lust
Thou shalt bear the fruit of the demon
Thou shalt bear the fruit of rape
Thou shalt bear the fruit of incest
Gave her the boon of motherhood
And the strength to bear the pain
Took away her freedom, freedom of choice
One that cursed her forever to a life wronged
Must be the One created by man
This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Nine