Twelve labours hath he done,
To appease Hera,
For he was not her son.
'Glory of Hera',
That was the meaning of his name,
The brawn, the muscles,
Strength was his game.
Heracles,
The brave, the true,
Forsaken by his father,
Zeus, the king.
Slay the lion,
Clean the stables,
Conquer the river styx,
Those are but a few,
Of the labours he had to face,
For, against his will,
He was not on Hera's good graces.
On his deathbed,
His body did disappear,
But even though he was dead,
No one shed a tear,
For he was made immortal,
And remembered in the stars,
Forgiven by Hera,
He became a god,
And stood beside his father,
Watching the world below.
