Demeter addressing her search for Persephone

This weary body of mine released of strength at such a mindful search, would the dryness wet itself and release me of my duty. That I had no charge of seeded growth and well fed worker's bellies. I could then rest, take succour of a muse with no recourse to thruth. Would Zeuss not have ravished his child, absconded her to messy hell... would he have seen his glory blended I would now rest and have known no violence of aim nor call to such potent virtue.

Cannot an ear of my waving corn be bent by the tolerant wind or a single grain trodden under foot, and still my persisting stems abide. Have I not at times argued for rain, gained some and seen only little growth... but yet compromised in my conclusion. Is my fury of natural and godly right.... for it is to regain my child..... or does it shame anger's noble rank and seek illicitly for her return.... Oh, my torture is of decision... but hers is of fear and darkness, the such she dreaded is smaller years when my bent and weary arm would take from her the horrible dancing threats abounding at my figure's retreat.

And I falter? Should I dare withold my buxom arm from her plight, seeking final rest... That Zeuss too has a belly he shall feel... and need he'll want. His thunderbolts discarded as he will, better he'd lie still and wait for his corn... The stars don't feed his strength and his violence will inflict itself upon its usurper in most ironic form. Be damned as you have done your child.