I now begin my solemn flight
From great Parnassus of my delight
Centuries after I was born
Out of Medusa’s furious gore.
I shall wander round the globe
To see who exhibits me most
Being the winged horse of the arts
And having possessed many of my choice.
Alas! What do I see here?
Screaming children and wailing mothers
Hungrily writhing in the shadow of war
Fed to stupor by ammunition for sure–
Ammunition moving the petrified pens of poets
And lettered men I the fray
Singing songs of endless victory
And of history’s tear-blotched face.
Shall I end my flight?
Or shall I flap my wings
And douse the flame of strife?
If only Zeus would let me, if only….