The gods slump listless on Olympus. Mighty Zeus himself seems dimmed.
The others have shrunk, lost in the folds of their clothes.

They'd set Orpheus a task: to build a city in a day, and Orpheus had done it.
The gods are stunned by their miscalculation.

There's only so much power to go around. If a guy like Orpheus taps into the supply,
there'd be a brown-out on Olympus.

They could set him a harder task. But in his attempt to do the impossible
he might burn out the divinity-generator and then where would they be?

The gods picture themselves small, exposed on the slopes,
feeling their way in the dark, impotent, mortal.