Lo, in the theater of strife, where gods decree, The “losers walk” unfolds, a tragic plea. From the fields of battle to the sea’s expanse, A perennial march, a woeful dance.
Hark, O Muses, to the tales of woe, Of those displaced by Fortune’s fickle throw. In shadows of conflict, where Ares weaves, The dispossessed, on winds of despair heaves.
Behold the exodus, as Troy once fell, A city’s lament, a poignant knell. Yet echoes through epochs, the mournful sound, Of “losers” walking, destiny unbound.
From ancient scrolls to scrolls yet to be, The displaced traverse history’s vast sea. In Persia’s gaze, and Rome’s imperial might, The “losers” walk, seeking refuge in night.
O Artemis, protect those in flight, Through deserts and rivers, in pale moonlight. Their journey, an epic, a hymn unsung, In the grand theater where tales are sprung.
In nature’s wrath, ‘neath Poseidon’s wrathful roar, The “losers” walk, on distant, foreign shore. A symphony of suffering, a dirge so sweet, Resounds in valleys and mountains meet.
Not in scorn, but in reverence and grace, Speak of the “losers,” their enduring embrace. For in their steps, a legacy unfolds, A timeless epic, as the story molds.
