They were not very nice men, a lot like you,
But they live forever, as these things go, out of spite.
Just when a hip professor, catching garde
A little arriere, says They Will Never Do
Because nostalgic, out of phase or obsolete,
They find out someone and change him word for word.
They all wanted love for themselves and what they did,
Their work, like you-love and a little praise
And some sense the good true beautiful will ring
If they call three times, charming from where she hid
The goddess who comes in sleep and whose uncertain ways
Play Circe and Penelope to their king.
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