If only Eve could don a straw hat and vanish to the Isle of Paros!
Instead, she was trapped in the Garden, weaving hard lines
of blood as the beginning people judged her pink lady tears.
Where was her power over water? Lilith dried out in the desert.
They shall possess her forever and dwell there
from generation to generation.
As the mushroom cloud rose over the maroon lagoon
Eve wondered if it was, in fact, a good time for a trip.
She was wearing her lucky pearls and the new horizon
walking boots, birthday gifts from the ferryman.
It is He who casts the lot for them,
And with His hands He marks off their shares of her.
Sad to see swine die but she was really more of a snake person.
So she turned her last page with the left hand
of darkness and prepared to recycle her perfect skin,
gala smooth and hoping for first prize. Ka-Ching!
The Purple Hermit 
Nicely woven, Nikita, with all those takes on the inevitable ending, around the ancient, through blood, around the recent, and the return to the beginning, to the serpent, in the finale. A fantastic piece of work.
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Thanks so much Steve. Glad it works for you. The original idea came from a dream and then the poem went through several stages of evolution.
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I think dreams give a special quality to poetry. My pleasure, Nikita.
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