Chrysos

Tell me, oh muse, of thy golden sword

Hand forged by the gods themselves

Smelt by the fires of Vulcan

Douse in the waters of Neptune

In truth spoke Apollo, for he cannot lie

He who wields thy blade stands above all gods

Such prospect, the sword was shunned from the heavens

A flash of gold tearing through sky

The clouds parted way in his descent, as did the earth

Before sheathing him in her warm embrace

From the fruits of their union bore child divine

Aureate scion of Terra and Chrysaor

Chrysos