Classic Poem

O my heart, in pain and in anguish for him to whom I used to bring
milk and feed it to him and when he wouldn't drink, though I wasn't angry,
I would threaten him with a tiny stick and he would show fear!
But now that descendant of strong men who fell in earlier days
has slain painted elephants over and over and says he does not feel
either the wound or the arrow within it. The tuft of hair
on his head is like the mane of a horse
and his beard is still sparse as he lies now on his shield.