His reach, clothed in my flesh, stays mystery;

Say not my name.

Praise other me.

TROY

My Troy was there, of course,

Though people said: Not so.

Blind Homer's dead. His ancient myth's

No way to go. Leave off. Don't dig.

But I then rigged some means whereby

To seam my earthen soul or die.

I knew my Troy.

Folks warned this boy it was mere tale

And nothing more.

I bore their warning, with a smile,

While all the while my spade

Was delving Homer's gardened sun and shade.

Gods! Never mind! cried friends: Dumb Homer's blind!

How can he show you ruins that n'er were?

I'm sure, I said. He speaks. I hear. I'm sure.

Their advice spurned

I dug when all their backs were turned,

For I had learned when I was eight:

Doom was my Fate, they said. The world would end!

That day I panicked, thought it true,

That you and I and they

Would never see the light of the next day -

Yet that day came.

With shame I saw it come, recalled my doubt

And wondered what those Doomsters were about?

From that day on I kept a private joy,

Tags: Ray Bradbury Classics
Source: readsnovelonline.net