The Finger Prints of Achilles
The finger prints of Achilles
left on his chariot, shield, sword and spear,
long buried in the dust
with the walls and towers of Troy,
but his deeds live on in his tale
I seem to have known since I was a boy.
Grey hairs of the beard of Odysseus,
curled and brittle, gone with his ship,
its mast and sail.
His name sung yet by bards of strange seas.
New craft they build with hammer and nail.
They voyage out to a far land
that remains in a myth.
Still try to reach its shore.
Work to be worthy
to taste the wine of Olympus.
But, they ask, what if the grapes are dry,
can be brewed no more?