Croton's and their flutes

Croton bore hardened sons.
Calluses ran across their hands,
Warfare bred into their spirit.
They worked the land as farmers
And fought the war as soldiers;
Croton gave them life,
And Crotoniates they were.

When faced with the pomp of the enemy,
They sheathed their swords, raised no shields,
And left their spears on the ground.
For Croton had looked into Sybaris,
Learning of its excesses and extravagance.

So, instead of weapons on the battlefield,
They brought forth flutes and played.
The Sybarite horses danced instead of charged,
And in the havoc, the hedonists were purged.
Their way of luxury was extinguished,
The vestiges of their city scorched.

All that remained was the tragedy—
Of flutes sharper than swords,
Of dancing, dying horses.

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