Night comes all-bedewing
As I set my mewling son
Into the kista-basket
They said I was one of only three
Immune to your own son's arrows
Yet you have conquered me at last
I cover the kista and send for the maidens
Knowing that I must tell you alone the secret
That we now share a husband
I admonish the maidens not to look in the basket
Knowing that they will regardless
I crafted their grandmother Pandora, after all
They dutifully journey down my sacred hill
Two fall prey to womanly curiosity
Madness and death are their husbands now
The third completes her delivery
Into your grotto and into your hands
She gushes of your legendary beauty
The maid bears the kista back to me
Inside is my serpentine son sleeping soundly
And a bridal gift from you, my secret sister-wife
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