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And in Roman times, as in modern times, hungry men pleasured in fawn. 'Twas a gladiators cup to imbibe from after running blades 'cross th' necks of they whose god or science were of different domains. And, women turned warm, and ogled at th' thought of their warrior's prowess, losing purity at th' notion of bloodthirst imbibing the pour of their heroes goblet without the promise of mutual pleasure. And sometimes at night, ther'd be heard, an echo, of lions, on the wind....roaring by th' black of an empty arena- as th' warrior becomes the conqueror again as the women bathe by a brook, bare breasted, sponging one another, with organdy cloth...soft as their flesh, gentle as the rain through a forest, deep- of each other as the warriors watch; they know what's to come of this... there be wine and honey in abundance. And, come morning...the lions will sleep. © 2014-All rights reserved Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR