In the golden realm of Olympus high,
Where the immortals dwell and time defies,
There stands Apollo, God of Light so pure,
With melodies sweet, and prophecies sure.
His lyre strums chords of celestial sounds,
Echoing through mountains, valleys, and towns.
Sun-kissed hair, eyes that the darkness douse,
God of the arts, and the Delphic house.
To him, the Muses sing their tales of old,
In harmonies that turn stories to gold.
Archery’s master, the silver bow’s lord,
His arrows fly true, never to be ignored.
Healer of illness, bringer of the arts,
His wisdom and knowledge imparts.
Driving his sun-chariot across the sky,
Chasing away darkness, making shadows fly.
To Python’s demise, his might was shown,
Protecting mankind, his compassion has grown.
With sister Artemis, the moonlit queen,
The twin deities, ever so serene.
Yet, like the sun that rises and then sets,
Apollo’s love and loss, one never forgets.
Daphne, Hyacinthus, tales of woe,
Remind us that even gods face sorrow’s blow.
In temples grand and ancient scrolls,
The legacy of Apollo brightly unfolds.
For in his light, and with his song’s call,
He reminds us of the beauty in all.