Warriors

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  • Death

    Warriors

    There we stood, legs braced against the fray,
    Feet planted in the blood-wet loam.
    There the mighty fell, there your lineage gave,
    There we battled in the dark seas foam.

    There we died, upon the hills of early dawn,
    Steel crimson sees the heart’s last day.
    There we met at last the shuttles darkened, drawn.
    Earth and mist and storm our final lay.

    There at the rising sun we set our faces,
    With open arms, in glory met our fate.
    There rang within the fog’s cold silent traces,
    The clarion of we who stand and wait.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    hart’s Poems (12)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Listen 1
    Shades 1
    Sea Fog 0
    Wait 1
    War 0
    Dare I 1
    Fool 0
    Bog 0
    Warriors 0
    Me 0
    Share... 1
    Hunt me Down 0