Opening PandoraÂ’s Box

Pandora running in the night 
To find a secret place 
To hide the box no man can touch 
Or nuzzle with his face. 

 

Pandora crying in her bed, 
Her face awash in tears, 
Remembering the words they said 
And love lost through the years. 

Pandora sitting on the snow 
Upon a frozen tush, 
Feeling the amber afterglow 
Inside the burning bush. 

Pandora with the sacred trust, 
An itch that she must scratch 
That day, with love replaced by lust 
Because of womanÂ’s snatch. 

Pandora, opening her box 
To take the demon seed, 
To feel the fiery blast of hell 
And satisfy her need. 

Mr. E. Bates is a poet who likens the quest for love to a fox hunt, in which it is the chase and not the kill which appeals.