To sail the wine dark seas of Homer’s lads.
To face the test of Cyclops and the songs
of sirens in the misty morning’s light.
To chase bold Zeus from out fair Leda’s lap.
To tell the tale so dread Medusa’s sad,
dread head’s kept on her shoulders, Neptune’s wrongs
avenged. So Ephialtes lies with might.
Briseis, oh my love, escapes the trap.
The stories that I read when I was young
left me wanting more, and so I tell
new tales for heroes, tales of “Never Was”
to live the lays I’d live, as yet unsung.
Besides, I need my scraps, and someone swell
said that bards eat free on Mount Olympus.
(Inspired by, and used with the permission of, a message from a fellow marathoner. Thanks, Darla.)