The Vale Of Argatos: A Tale Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Once Pan, the God of mischief and of mirth,
Conceived a plan the mortals to dismay.
Argatos bred the saddest folk on earth.
It's there they say the men complained all day.
So Pan their prayers did answer, every one.
A land of green and gold that vale became;
All ripe and prime beneath the summer sun
With all the beauties that a man could name.
And then Pan gave a box unto their queen,
Which she soon opened, as Pandora did,
And from it spites of love and wealth were seen
And peace and health did spring out from its lid.
But like Pandora's hope one sprite remained.
Argatian men the last had boredom gained.

Thus in their boredom Pan did take delight,
For even growth and pain he set aside.
They could not even hope for death or night
Until the mighty Zeus this kingdom spied.
At last Pan let dame Nature take her course.
Then stillness settled o’er the puzzled vale
The sun then set; the cold wind of remorse
Did flood their hearts and flush their faces pale.
And so Argatans did their ancient dance
Of birth and death, of passion and cruel war;
Some happy just to die, free from this trance
And some went back complaining as before.
And some were happy just to have this past;
A joy remembered, but not there to last.