Orpheus

It's not to leave, but to return
That matters to this fallen plume.
I took an echo from an urn
Of empty pride to be a tune
Of peace and words of friendship, and
I followed it into the bottom
Of its grotto, where the land
Was arid and the sun forgotten.
In there, I spent a year of wander
To hunt my Eurydice. – So good
Feels the old sun, is it a wonder
That I’d repel the ones who would
Reduce this epic kind of singing
To clichés of new beginning?