How grand it is to talk with gods
and hear them speak iambic beat 
of heart or dactyl’s galloped pace
along Aegean’s blood-dyed beach
towards blind Homer and Euripides.
Dionysus, share your cup with me.

Recite invocatives of unkind fate;
Erinyes, sing your vengeance overture.  
Set the scene to match the angry voice—
more whisperer than mighty roar—
implore the weaver of life’s short cloak
to allow us tread the stage once more.

The chorus strophe and antistrophe:
my death must be epode enough.