Cassandra

I first met her at the lake,
she rising wreathed in mist
from the still waters
at dawn's break,
her falling hair
willow's soft sigh
for our heedless sake.
Sure enough,
tonight she is the star attraction
on our programme of distraction,
shot to the insatiable peak
of our satirical height,
and amidst the thunderous applause,
chortles, hoots and trumpeting guffaws,
no one cares to hear
her whisper to awake.
Tomorrow I will meet her on the street
holding out her hands,
her hair is in tatters
but her eyes do not waver.