Will You Die For Us, My Dear?

The grass was green, and the air was still,

And with the seagulls' cries the air was filled.

Mycenae was calm as the spring,

That fateful day with death would bring.

Iphigenia, that little lamb,

Was brought to the altar by her tiny hand.

Achilles stood and watched with awe,

As the young girl to the altar drawn,

Not a frown creased her little lips,

Not a tear from her eyes did fall and slip.

She watched her father, Agamemnon proud,

Who watched her move with sorrowful brows.

"The goddess of the hunt your blood requires,"

Tiresias spoke without might or desire.

"Will you die for the Grecian land?"

He asked her calmly, knife in hand.

She bit her lip til blood did spill,

"My life I give for you to kill."

She answered simply, gazing down,

As her life before her eyes did drown.

"Baa, baa," came the baying of a lamb,

Who stood behind the altar grand.

He looked at Iphigenia with eyes so sweet,

For he came to take her place on judgment's seat.

"A gift from Artemis," the men all said,

As the wind picked up from the western end.

"No," the Seer rebuked the crowd

of soldiers and armies to war were bound.

And so they laid her down on rock,

And with the knife her neck he struck.

Blood poured out like a fountain's might,

And the war-hardened men turned from the sight.

The sheep did cry at the pools of blood,

Around the altar began to flood.

No one asked her what she desired,

They only took what was required.