Such seething putrid breaths take their course 

Much like Daphne’s when she writhed under Apollo's prowess 

Sap dapples all over her dress 

There is no vestige to follow up a groaning so hoarse 

And morose, each pomegranate’s burgundy kernel   

Must subside into a flaccid and arid bank 

Then, the kernels harden and blanch into a pink 

For deliverance to visit this damsel, branches of the laurel 

Shall make sashes across her torso for her raiment 

Moreover, the bark soon canvases his thrashes 

Before she is being pinned in greenery 

Now wholly flayed, the bay leaves arise as a revenant 

Yet, she remains to be buffeted by her blood rushes 

 In lieu of being blessed by soiled rosemary