by Brett Rutherford
Adapted from Archias, The Greek Anthology, vi, 195
Athena, scorn not
this dented trumpet placed
before your temple. This
is no token or plaything.
Miccus of Pallene offers it.
You heard its brazen tune once
as soldiers, passing,
raised shields and shouted
in your honor. And then
the enemy turned pale
as Ares the god’s anthem
roared out and their blood
ran cold with the fear of death.
At your feet, goddess,
here, an instrument of civil pride
and there, of doom to foes.
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