“Father of Gods and men” the ancients called You,
And illustrated that a hundred times.
A bull, a swan, a man, a golden shower,
Whatever form would let You get inside;
Like Odysseus’ horse You breached the gate,
And when the sentry cried it was too late.

But what are we to make, now, of these stories
That seem so alien to all we know?
So foreign, yes – and yet still so familiar,
The rich, strange soil from which our culture grows.
We learn the myths, and learn that they are lies;
We scorn to see the world through ancient eyes.

Some of the tales, no doubt, were meant for teaching,
While others simply aimed to entertain;
But all reflect a deeper understanding
That it will take us lifetimes to regain
As we learn to sink our roots into this sod,
And flourish in the garden of the Gods.


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