To Persephone

Three times I came, and three times I fled
The fourth time I finally stayed, covered in red
A grisly, naughing fate lead me to thee
To pluck that golden bough under that tree
Please with the gift, making no more fuss
You turned your eyes to me, speaking then thus

'To reach the end of this deep dug
Hell that Furies make their home
Avoid the pit were Titans sleep
And fallen angles roam
Seek the path more tossed and turned
The poisons make you strait
Corrosive passions burn your sin
And find the Ivory Gate'