I don’t know when I was born, I don’t know if I was born,
I don’t know who my parents were, I don’t know if I had parents,
I know I am a shadow and that is all that is of consequence.

They called it Attica, a land of heroes and slaves, gods and maids,
I lived in a cave, for many years,
I had all I needed, it was cool and safe.

I ventured outside from time to time, I enjoyed the scent of pine,
I played with the wind, helping me pleasantly while away the passage of time,
I kept shepherds company and drank in their tales borne of wine,
Sometimes I stayed out too long and the sun would come
and scorch me like a withered vine.

Once upon a time a god came to live in my cave, they called him Pan and he liked to play,
His melodies lulled me and made me sway but still I could not speak or say,
I learnt to whistle around the cave, octaves and quavers I loved to make,
Pan picked up his ears and heard what I made;
his flute did the rest and we made serenade.

Pan was a god of rough pleasures and taste, wine, dancing and carousing he did make,
And those fair nymphs he tried to make unchaste,
A fateful night his friend Dionysus came to play, the Bacchic festival did hold sway,
That was my cue to find my reprieve, I bid Pan farewell and took my leave,
To find somewhere quieter I did need.

I wandered for a while, centuries or years, time meant nothing to me,
Crevice to cranny but nothing was like my cave,
What was my purpose, why was I here, these were questions I now pondered on and held dear.
I came to a river, to cross it meant death but I handed the boatman my coin and hoped for the best,
Being a shadow, I enjoyed the Stygian depths but after a while I found it mournful and left.
I crossed back over the river but they tried to hold me back, I protested I was a shadow and they left it at that.

In time I came to Delphi, where Sibylline truths are told,
Answers to mysteries,
Kings are made bold.

On the tripod the vapors took hold, I asked who I was what did I mean?
The old hag uttered words,
The priests did scribe but saw no hand to grab the prize.

The answer was stark a bolt in the night,
My father was Apollo the King of all Light,
But where was my form,
Why was a creature of the night, had I been forsaken to bury a tryst.

My torment made the lyre sing and Apollo came to see,
His beloved instrument,
Father I said what have I done, for you to forsake me and banish me from the Sun

I defiled my temple with the Sybils he said, I could not let Daphne hear of this dread,
I cast you away never to be seen, but now you’ve found me, Oh Zeus what does it mean,
Allow me to live in the house of your fame,
To see your face out of the shade.
This much he agreed and now immortal I stand, my face to the Sun I live in the day,
A shadow no more, I see you every day.