The Bronze Girl Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

The rising sun trapped the willow princess
As she bathed hidden among the shallows.
He had plaited a copper basket to catch her
That first she thought a palace not a prison.

But the sun rose in the sky and shut the door
And forced himself upon the frightened girl
Who fought and set herself against him,
Caring nothing for his overarching majesty.

Then spent in his lust and rage, the risen sun
Gave the girl to the demons as a plaything
And she became a helpless, friendless outcast
Visited and revisited endlessly by nightmares.

Set free, she sought the sallow water's edge,
Unable to smile or love or feel or heal her terror,
Turned hard as bronze to match her hated cell
Whose copper laths grew tarnished green - and wept.

But then her father, the river ruler, returned
Righteous in his anger at the violent rising sun
And set to work to clear the debris of this folly
That osiers might greet again the rain of evening.

And this same sullied girl became a goddess
In her suffering, weaving talismans and charms,
A source of spells protecting hearth and child,
In quests for justice, honour and compassion.