Honour that he lost shall thus be gained,
Ere halt his steed shall rise again,
Whispers of hallowed name are spelt,
Swords now drawn thy foes now dealt,
More null than keep in heaven’s weep,
Ere much he says in less words to keep,
Yearlings too mute to speak word for fear
Our survivor in the yolk must stand so near.
Hours now the breaths you long to take,
Still keep in meagre sight lest art so fake
Shall time thy heart for actions all too well,
Lest thine heart in action is wrought to swell,
Move the moon from noon ere moon is boon,
Motion for new ways can never be so soon,
Onward now for honour’s pass in bitter waste,
Never return unless war has been your taste.

Civilisation, Poetry, Works
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