by Nick Gisburne
Persuasive though her words appear to be
She knows the time for double-talk has passed
The hissing creature, tangled in the tree
Has charms she cannot endlessly outlast
Each supple, sliding, shimmer of the scales
Reminds her she is easily deceived
The Master will be angry if she fails
Excuses are so seldomly believed
What brings this slinking charlatan today
Dismantling the armour of her mind?
The sweet enchantment fills her with dismay
It leaves her doubts, and all her questions, blind
What harm, a fruit, delicious, pure and chaste?
Perhaps a bite, a sliver, just a taste?
