He travelled with them. Never used an oar
For fear of splinters damaging his hands.
We don’t hear he arrived at Colchis’ sands.
Did what was needed, left, and nothing more.
For it was not his story. He was there
when he was needed, went back to his own
sad destiny. Stood on the shore alone
The Argo sailed away. He did not care
He’d had his victory, won it by song.
The Sirens tried to drive the crew insane
yammered, and squealed. And any human brain
would tear hearing that music. All along
his music softened theirs. Cacophony
transformed between their notes to harmony