An open book. A brown moth flutters and swoops

Above the dust-cloud where a chariot hurtles.

Touched, the moth rails as its golden powder settles

Over the ranks of conquering Greek troops.

The chariot rolls over, and Hector’s head

Bumps on the cobbles, dragged behind his horses.

The moth, pinned among the turning pages,

Flutters on the hero’s body, then is dead.

Meanwhile, clouds darken; thunder booms alarm;

Ships dash from the jagged cliffs to safer harbor;

Nearby, his oxen grunting at their steady labor,

A naked ploughman works a hillside farm.