Dedicated to all the Women Warriors

Someone was kind enough to pass me a poem they had written and dedicated to all the female warriors out there! Thanks A.R.!

Paleontologie

A beast from our mythologie, the Lovosaurus Rex,
Became, says anthropologie, the Prontoborus next.

I heard the archaeologist, relating what he’d found.
A Lovosaurus Rex, it seems, too well had stood its ground.
Feet unearthed were stuck in stone,
Flesh was withered to the bone.

Sloping back and hanging head, is how I hear they found one dead.

How could such a thing have happened? How so still when once impassioned?
What could slow and cease to beat, that fired a forge of such great heat.

I sit and ponder what I know, but fear to reap what knowledge sows:
That love would fight if it was war, that what love ceased,
Was to implore.

But what could Prontoborus win, that Lovo was denied?
In what peculiar circumstance, did Pronto come to thrive?

The Prontoborus of this time is seen the same in any clime.
He looks astute, although he’s mute,
A source of fame, this pantomime?

Another clue I put in place: brace of comets fell from space.
They shook the earth and all its ways, undid in one,
God’s seven days.

Oh what a dread and darksome day. The more I see I turn away,
That love had grown in openness, till comets rained their mindlessness,
And all that once was shared was lost, the face one knew amongst the cost.

Appearances became the judge. He was strong who wouldn’t budge.
When Lovosaurus’ heart would lift, when Lovo made his heart a gift,
The maid had learned by rule of thumb, that what was offered she should shun,
That each would win the best one could, that who was eager,
Lower stood.

So Eve would dream of Prontoborus, grand and fine above the chorus.
Didn’t lovo prove her quest? If she’s so good, she’ll win the best.

Another Lovo was no fool. He knew of females to be cruel.
He hurt and scorned his own true Eve.
He taught the lessons she’d believe.

I see how now to make good sense, of one last myth that lost me hence.
I think in fact I’ll make it me, and cast my love not to the sea,
But take this gold that I called mine,
Return the Rhinegold to the Rhine,
Throw the chains of love aside,
And love unchained,
My own true bride.

-"A.R."