My daughter – motherless, childless

from the skull of my head in full armour.

The wisest of all my children,  in which I trust

my most prized weapon – the lightning bolt,

the invention of hers, the olive tree

won her Athens.


Athena loved the owl because of

its wise looks. Worshipped it, highly regarded it.

She is as beautiful as the sun on the shore

her golden hair behind her glorious armour,

no love has ever passed her.

I regret one thing.

Taking away her mother. 


By Linda

View more poems from Hornsby Girls High School, 2013