Some women, chastity their sword,
Under the star of battle seek
Glory in war, the past restored,
A breath of things uniquely Greek.
Nude to the waist, each handsome bust,
Gives off, amid the scent of flower
An awesome scent of stadium dust
Rose oil and sweat and milk gone sour.
Their loins unclothed, their limbs unfresh,
Into the shower rooms they fleet
To rinse their battle-weary flesh
And stanch the sour smell of defeat.
(1981?)
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