the woman of many whiles

The Woman of Many Whiles

Penelope, shell of an echo,
Pines to Poseidon for her hero,
And still the tide cries widow, widow.
Horizons coastlines over-shadow;
With each gulfed stream, tropical billow,
Crafts sound the idyll of Kalypso,
Where brined airs, isled by strait and narrow,
To hog-tied swine with ears of tallow