Hephaestus, pacing
Oddly the smooth floor, rested his leg,
The shortened leg Zeus long ago had crippled.
“The farmer—he works well, and loves the fire
I gave him. Let him be.”
But none of them saw
His meaning, if he had one. He was lame
And foolish, and he muttered as he walked,
And turned and walked again, counting the steps
Between two oaks that limited his way.