Is Ulysses not just as much an oar
as he is wind that fills misguided sails?
O! Ship! Your chart and shooting of the stars,
those warriors sick for home you've led astray,
delivering to cyclops and their ploy
and all the joy of sirens. Sleep dear boy.
You must not dream Penelope's untrue,
amidst her suitors with your aging dog.
Ulysses wake! Your crew and ship await
and you must string the bow for old time's sake.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015
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