Son of Telamon.(Poem)

 
Son of Telamon 
 
   Sick with fear by the blood hole, 
   I saw fighters dragging 'round 
   their gory combat gear, each one 
   craving recognition, sympathy, 
   so many of them still amazed, 
   going through the dark. 
 
   Here came one, an old friend, slowly, 
   whispering now in a voice I used to know, 
   coming to plead that I set up his oar 
   atop a cairn along the beach, 
   in memory of a simple man and the good work 
   he used to do in the waves. 
 
   Then my mother came, ...