Pan & Syrinx

It is said a god began the story, but that is an exaggeration. On the cool slopes of Arcadia, she dwelled; a nymph, agile and sly, she fooled them all, they called her goddess.

It was rumored she said No, she slipped through his hands with a soft sigh, she changed, not conformed.

And Mercury might have said more, expounded further on Pan’s great loss, but it was not about him. For it was her eyes that grew dark and her choice to chase the night.

She turned to reeds which he bound with wax. Pan never could let go.


Inspired from Ovid’s Metamporphoses

Image Credit here

If you like this, read my other poem “Metamorphoses” here





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s