Early 2004
An exercise in fantasy.
Away! Away!
The breath of day
Is dying and the night is fey
In the grim land by your fathers’ graves
Their swords are gone
And eons long
Have washed the warriors from the stones
But a grim ward still disputes the bones.
Beware! Beware!
The torpid air
Is heavy with regrets of yore
And men are killed by stranger things than war.
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