The Weaver

Young Arachne: Lady, low she lay;

She heard a voice on one fine day;
When Goddess Athena started to say:

"I do take pity on your lowly lot.
I'd like to help you, believe or not.
I want to teach you how to sow.
A priceless gift I will bestow."

Arachne agreed to play her part.
Took the gift of a God given art.

Master weaver she quickly became;

Dreams in seams, none were the same!

Nymphs from far and wide they came;
But she mistook the rules of the game;
Head swollen, in measure with her fame.

They hoped in droves, to derive the prime;

Of how Arachne could spin weaves so fine.
They asked her again, time after time:

"Where did you learn to beautifully design"
Arachne replied, self conceit in her eye:
"Not one taught me to cast my spell;
It was all down me, that is all I shall tell!"

The Nymphs knew Arachne had deceived.

Only one other, which could have so weaved:

Goddess Athena! the nymphs perceived;
And as she sat sadly watching them all;
Athena decided to pay Arachne a call.
Dressed as an old lady; in rickety robes.
Depressed at the path, Arachne had chose.

Athena now in her old woman's disguise;
Tried in vain, to open Arachne's eyes:
"Respect the Gods for they are wise,

Skill and wisdom come with age, not lies."
Arachne angered, was not amused;
Challenged Athena with a mocking shrill:
"Goddess! I propose we pit skill to skill!"

Beneath Athena's old raggedy guise;

Goddess of wisdom and war did rise.
Those that could see, those that were near;

Trembled in fear, bowed down to the skies.
Proud Arachne, stood firm her ground.
Athena picked up the gauntlet and vowed:

"I'll teach you a lesson in front of this crowd!"

Both wanted to win - the spin started in haste.
They worked and weaved at a furious pace.
Beautiful weaves, they both conceived one.
Athena wove about her contest with Poseidon;
In the conquest to name the great City: Athens.
Arachne wove about the Cruelty of the Gods;
Depicting them compromised and at odds.

Athena told the Nymphs to adjudicate;
But not one of them could decide their fate.
Two tapestries so fine, impossible to define;
In their minds, no final winner could be assigned.
It mattered not, how they tried to deliberate;
There was just no way for them to equate;
Even when Athena was becoming irate.

Athena struck Arachne between the eyes!
Arachne immediately cried as she realised:
She should have listened not to her pride.
The newly felt, self-awareness of her arrogance;
Was in an instant flash, all too much to bare.
She tied a knotted rope fast around her neck;

To end of her despair, she swung without a care.

Goddess Athena now high on vengeance;
Sprinkled magic dust upon the dead weaver.
Mighty Athena with pure spite inside her;
Quickly turned Arachne into a spider;
For depicting Gods in a compromised guise.
Poor Arachne dropped a stitch in nine;
When she threaded tapestries beyond the line.

Arachne should have known to be wise;
Her head shrank, no ears nor visible eyes.
Her young slender arms, shrank in size.
She suddenly sprouted legs two by two;
It wasn't very long before eight of them grew!
The very first spider, Arachne became;
Her descendants still weave webs the same.

Beautiful webs that inspire the World;
But never a tapestry to rival the Gods.
Never again will they weave in that way;
Goddess Athena taught them how to play.
Play nicely if you don't wish to pay!
They'll always remember that fateful day;
When Arachne let her arrogance stray.