The brute awaits, upon his marble bed,
an individual inspired to choose
a path apart, pick up the clue, and use
the braid amazement, paying out a thread
compounded of expectancy and dread
and recollection, twisted in a fuse
that wicks away all doubt, and binds the muse
to bear the light beyond her seeking tread.

The minotaur, who crouches at the core
of labyrinth, is not as strong as she
who sets herself to find his hidden cask.
He waits for an eccentric who’ll explore
the inner circle, and his legacy
enigma only goes to those who ask.