Daphne running from Apollo

You bastard, you followed her 

Forced her, did what you wished to her 

Barely even noticed when her limbs turned to bark. 

You even took a trophy. 

A souvenir of your conquest 

Then left her, her body stiff as branches. 

And from that shallow grave 

You picked those laurel leaves 

Wove it into a crown. 

Then bestowed it to your friends 

When they won other races. 

Only the trees morn poor Daphne 

While Apollo is revered as a God