They say there lies, where no wind sings,
A pool born from a goddess’ tears.
Athena wept when wisdom stung,
And from her grief, the glass was sprung.
Its face was calm, its breath divine,
No mortal leaf would dare to climb.
It shone like truth, yet hid deceit—
A mirror where all hearts retreat.
Cupid once bent beside its rim,
To see his craft reflected dim.
He smiled, for even love’s pure art
Was drowned within that sacred heart.
The Naiads spoke, in voices low:
“Behold the warmth the cold bestows.
Touch not its grace, for those who try,
Shall find their flame in frost will die.”
For every soul who knelt too near,
Was blessed with calm—and cursed with fear.
It lulled the lost in gentle hue,
Then sealed their dreams in crystal dew.
Now gods avoid its silver sleep,
Where light is shallow, sorrow deep.
And still it waits, serene, apart—
The pond that mimics the human heart.