Get on his wrong side and Apollo, ancient as he is,
Can still stab you with a plague arrow. No one bid
For them at the great sale when his creditors
Sold everything else -- the famous bow, the golden chariot,
The swift-skimming boat -- at knock-down prices.
He lives simply, dresses plainly, rising at dawn,
To trundle the sun across the sky in a wheelbarrow.
"I don't know what I'll do if the barrow breaks," very far;
I may have to try just rolling it with a stick."
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