My Weariness of Epic Proportions

I like it when
Achilles
Gets killed
And even his buddy Patroclus—
And that hothead Hector—
And the whole Greek and Trojan Jeunesse doree
Are more or less
Expertly slaughtered
So there’s finally Peace and quiet (The gods having momentarily Shut up) One can hear
A bird sing
And a daughter ask her mother Whether she can go to the well And of course she can By that lovely little path That winds through The olive orchard