Third Wave Persephone

One wave, two waves, three.

No longer judged by beauty,

But poor, old Persephone

Was not as lucky as we.

Taken from her glorious field

By a powerful king concealed

As a wonderous suitor, but for real,

A middle-aged man, revealed.

Taken to dark, ominous caves,

A precious offer he gave.

A queen? Nay, but a slave.

But be a serf, she could not do.

A magic potion, she would brew

Stronger than all offered fruit.

One sip by he, away she flew.

In a society plagued and corrupt,

A man could steal her so abrupt,

Starting now, she shouts “Enough!”

She is ready to enforce #timesup