A master weaver unwittingly

Challenges the divine

To duel, eluding humility,

Ensnared in the lair of pride. 

 

Arachne declares her skill

Superior to Athena's,

Forgets that her gift 

Flows from the goddess

And that it would behoove her

To be grateful and modest. 

 

Athena in old lady garb

Appears before Arachne

With but a single chance

For the mortal to repent,

Retract the boastful words. 

 

But Arachne doubles down,

So Athena sheds her disguise

And in all the glory of Pallas,

Orders a contest to surmise

Who truly rules the loom. 

 

The weaving turns partisan

As each of the artisans

Strives to make a point:

Athena portrays punishment

For mortals playing gods,

While Arachne dares to mock

Indisputable power abuse

By the likes of Zeus!

 

The goddess of wisdom deems

This hubris in extremis,

Especially as Arachne's weaving

Outshines her own, so she throws

Decorum to the winds, destroys

Her rival's masterwork of thread,

Shames her into choosing death. 

 

Yet the story won't end

Without a metamorphosis:

Using Hecate's herb,

Athena turns Arachne

Into a spider, cursed

To weave her lonesome web

In perpetuity, practising

Her art, only without

Laurels or éclat.