Sisyphus Retold

They tell the tale of Sisyphus
But tell it false from what I see.
For every morn I see him hurl
His cursëd load from Eastern peaks.
It catches fire in the air,
As meteors and spaceships do,
And after flying through the day,
It cools upon the Western seas.
But blasted curses of the Gods
Do not allow our Sisyphus
A wink of rest upon his brow:
No sooner he descends his peak
Than like a bowling ball it comes
A-railing through the underworld
And rests again as obstacle
Across his path to living free.

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