Hark , my friend!  And I'll tell you a tale
Of a time before Tik-Tok and Grogu
When the craftsman Hephaestus, he forged in God-fire,
A banjo of maple with brass tube.

Metallurgic arts, an alloy's glow,
With anvil-sprayed fire each time
The God's hammer reigned on gleaming brass sheets
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But alas, the instrument was not yet complete!
Hephaestus!  A blacksmith God, failed!
So he texted a luthier with his grimy God hands:
'Twas - yes! - Quail Creek Banjos, he hailed.

"What would you hatheth me dost?" Lindsay did ask.
(His Koine quite awkward, not strong.)
"Take wood from the trees, bent round like a drum.
Pierced through with a string'ed neck, long."

"If I fail," Lindsay said, "to do as you ask?
To build this mighty God-lute?"
"When the clock strikes three, and the old hen clucks,
On your eyes night forever, mouth mute."

So he bent a mighty rim, with skin a la goat
String'ed neck, set slightly askew.
He placed the brass plate atop the neck's face
Alas!  59 minutes of two!

Cluck went the hen as the cuckoo bird flew
And a dust cloud, it twirled about
As the brass of the neck reflected brightly the sun
Reminiscent of great Airy's Mount.

"To whom shall this God-lute, with the brass plate, go forth?"
Who'd request such an instrument, do tell?"
The God then looked awkward, his wallet not full,
"Mortal, your check's in the mail."

With God-lute in stow, Hephaestus did travel
from exile back to Olympus.
But daddy-Zeus cared not for Hephy's return
And Hera was out at the dentist.

As lightning emitted from Zeus's firm grasp
Preparing to skewer Hephaestus,
Zeus saw his reflection in the lute's plate of brass
A son's gift of love and benevolence.

"Father, I bring you a God-lute from Earth.
Built with my hands (no help needed!).
With a tear Zeus embraced his son, once exiled,
"Welcome back to your home on Olympus."

"But what shall we call this crafty invention,
on humans someday we'll bestow?"
"My son it was crafted from tools of your trade.
Let's call it a clawhammer bang-o."