When weary Ulysses
Washed up on the shores of Ithaca,
Beggars cloth he wore.
And after 20 odd years of solitude
without his homeland,
He was shaken to the core.
Though he himself
Chose the mortal path,
Unable to forget his kind,
Forgotten was he!
As a dead man buried
In a stranger’s mind.
Penelope’s tears are dried;
Though she cried and cried,
The pain would not subside,
But blended with her pride.
A row of suitors behind her skirt
Is trampling his name into dirt.
Yet there, next to the rocky
Path lay a pile of dirt.
Forgotten by man and god,
Old ears suddenly prickled,
And Ulysses knew Argos -
his friend, his trusty dog.
Heart leapt forth
for its master’s hand.
Sniffing memories, blind eye
searched for shape and form,
instantly seeing through
the disguise of this royal spy.
“O, Argos, my companion of old!
Of merrier, of luckier times."
A single tear touched his eye.
And Argos’s soul, over-helmed
By this final excitement,
Flew up into the cloudless sky.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 7:07 PM UTC
When weary Ulysses
Washed up on the shores of Ithaca,
Beggars cloth he wore.
And after 20 odd years of solitude
without his homeland,
He was shaken to the core.
Though he himself
Chose the mortal path,
Unable to forget his kind,
Forgotten was he!
As a dead man buried
In a stranger’s mind.
Penelope’s tears are dried;
Though she cried and cried,
The pain would not subside,
But blended with her pride.
A row of suitors behind her skirt
Is trampling his name into dirt.
Yet there, next to the rocky
Path lay a pile of dirt.
Forgotten by man and god,
Old ears suddenly prickled,
And Ulysses knew Argos -
his friend, his trusty dog.
Heart leapt forth
for its master’s hand.
Sniffing memories, blind eye
searched for shape and form,
instantly seeing through
the disguise of this royal spy.
“O, Argos, my companion of old!
Of merrier, of luckier times."
A single tear touched his eye.
And Argos’s soul, over-helmed
By this final excitement,
Flew up into the cloudless sky.
