The solemn story of Sybil

Alliteration/Sibilance is, I think, the best thing that’s ever happened to anyone ever.*

With that in mind, here’s a poem that doesn’t really use much of either outside of the title. Or does it?**

I’m also not sure whether this is the serious or silly (aha!) poem this week either, mostly because that theme went out of the window within the first 50 seconds.

*This is a lie
**This is a misleading question

From a young age
Sybil Ittie Resbonz
Was different.
See Sybil could move hills!

A great and powerful girl,
The strength of a titan
With graceful twirl
Sybil was special.

At first with crowd
And cry, and cheer
Did Sybil do her deeds.
Not once alone
And often helped
Young Sybil had no needs.

The years went on
The crowds soon gone
Young Sybil grew in age
From hill to mountain
But now, no chanting

Her tasks now simply left in ink
No-one with which to sit and drink
Her power great, her mission vast
But of those willing, she’s the last.

Sybil could not stand alone forever.
Few were there on her dying day
But all felt the weight of her demise

Not a person fit her groove,
The earth remained unmoved.

None could bear her responsibilities.


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