Sappho Accuses Aphrodite Poem by Roy Ballard

It gladdened eyes; its blossom fed the bee;
the sweetest apple ripened in the sun
upon the tip, the topmost of the tree,
and hung there still when harvesting was done.
Forgotten? No, but not a man aspired,
until the goddess came to shake her free,
to touch the apple that was most admired.
I'm sorry, Mother dear, but don't blame me.
Blame Aphrodite; she has sent a youth,
as slender as the stripling apple tree,
to shake me with desire. You know the truth:
with love she traps us women, wantonly;
against this creature there is no defence;
we must surrender until love relents.