Fortune has been laid upon our aching hands. The first of all gathering clouds roll in; With them mingles dust of battle, And the stars fade into shadow. Night cuts like a cold sword. On every wind blows a dead heart That we have made homeless. With cruel words did we beckon Those feeble souls forgotten. Yet my spirit rises like the moon above, And I cannot love them more than life. When all is dust, and blood dries on our feet, Ask no answer from this fitful masquerade As now the savage sun comes rising Filled with the same cold fury, Bent over our heads in strange horror. Justice made tame by those who pray, Leaves this world of strife both pitiless and vain.
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Wow. Great job, Jacquie. The imagery and emotion of this one is intensely vivid.