Immunity Challenge Four for Survivorblog 3

Artemis 2003, An Epic Poem

When the men that would worship you are weak,
Obscurity becomes the thing you seek.
All the admirable things about mankind
Had become increasingly hard to find.
When the tides of change swept the Greeks aside
We found ourselves, with the Romans, allied.
Their behavior filled us all with disgust -
All the gods, that is, save Dionysus.
We left Mount Olympus to roam the Earth,
While the legend of Bachus' rebirth
Turned into a fable of one "true" lord.
My last true subjects were put to the sword
By misled followers of the wine god
In the name of peace yet! Isn't that odd?

The moon's face has changed o'er two thousand times
And I, the huntress, wane and wax with her.
What were once noble deeds are now loath'ed crimes.
Would that I had the restraint of Athena, my sister.

Always, my troubles have flown from my bath -
Foul men catch me wet, then feel my dry wrath;
From Actaeon, transformed into a stag,
To Siproites, who died as an old hag.
I realize that now I can bathe inside,
But I am a goddess. I will not hide
From men - their lust makes them easy prey.
If they dare to spy, they'd best run away.

In the cold of March, I found a warm lake.
In the midst of the hunt, I took a break.
In the wink of an eye, my skin was bare.
Into the water I dove without care.

And then I saw him, alone on the shore,
His mouth agape with that look I deplore.
Alas, my powers were not what they were
Or this ogling ogre, this beaming boor,
Would have found himself covered with deer fur,
Or never again would have been called "sir."
But I no longer can change the shape of man.
Before I could catch him, this coward ran.
Not all virgins are kind, think what you may.
"You, sir, have transgressed - and now, you must pay."

The tides ebb and flow, empires grow old.
My weapons of yore had ceased to be fun.
I'd traded my bow, my arrows of gold,
For silver bullets - and a compact handgun.

Once you are my prey, give in to despair.
I'll find you, my friend, any time, anywhere.
The slightest bent twig, the smallest crushed leaf,
Will lead me to you, and lead you to grief.
My voyeur, you see, lacked the guile of the fox,
He wore a jacket from work, clearly labeled "Pay Box."

In my best hunting vinyl, red as sin,
My stalking boots laced to the top of my shin,
I stalked this vile creature, sporting a grin.

He stood at the window, making a sale,
And when our eyes locked, his rat face turned pale.
I spoke to his client, "Miss, you may watch,"
Then fired my pistol, once, to his crotch.
He let out a shriek, well more like a whine,
Maimed, as he was, by my bullet divine.
"I hope you'll remember, sir, it is rude,
To spy on a goddess while she bathes in the nude."

Men, if you're wandering alone in the wood,
And, from the water, hear a lone woman's sighs,
I hope you'll remember to do what you should.
Walk away, boy, and avert your eyes.
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