Parchments bring along the smell of blood,
Of the brave men to be lost in battle,
Who’ll fight as far as they are dead.
“Hurry the women, children, and cattle”
War looms a crimson sky,
Biting the hearts of the hardest men,
The old and new now ask the Lord,
“The end is true, but when?”
The moist of native Earth,
The aroma of stew from the hearth,
The innocence of children on loving shoulders,
Won’t find a place in the borders.
I pray my heirs never see war,
Nor hear word of my death
Let them know only to laugh in bright freedom.
“My Grace, beware! A sword is nea
I got to see Mel Gibson’s ‘Braveheart’, and that made me write this poem. Not that the movie was inspirational, but it showed what war could do, what freedom required. The line lengths reflect the spirit of the narrator.
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