Nostos

Sing something, O ingenious AI

Of heroes, grudgingly returned to work

Having repressed their wish simply to die

With bland feasts, games, perhaps a firework

Many old places had they visited

Custom, habit and guilt leading them back

Into the arms of those they had escaped

Having roamed, all did, muttering, backtrack

Tales were told, over moist bread and dry bird

Of visits to odd lands, and of their ways

Learned, so that the sacred words might be heard

Of promotions, contracts; whatever pays

For that, really, had they boldly left home

For that would they continue far to roam