Patroclus sees the men being slain
And wants to fight out on the plain.

"Oh no!" Achilles moans.
"Of my armour you may make a loan."

"The city is out of bounds.
I'll just fight on ground.
So don't get worried,
Don't get flurried,
For tomorrow I'll still be around!

"Don't let your worry make you thinner!
Set a place for me at dinner!"

So Patroclus leads the men to the plain,
And about that time it begins to rain.

Patroclus, you idiot! You fool!
The sight of those walls just made you drool!

His arm was lopped
With a right hand chop,

And his eyes put out
With a healthy clout.

"My body from my life is cleft.
My dominant hand is not my left."

You see, he was delirious.
He didn't make any sense to us.

And when we thought he'd tire,
He suddenly began to expire.

Here is Patroclus' funeral pyre.
All night it burns; what a fire!