Within the last of the tomb
Are fresh and quick sand
The hairs rough and needed comb
Whom the owners sought for a land
When bitterness taste like it is from honeycomb
Men stood and roll their last band
Not of victory but cry of a lost womb
Of a child who was at hand
Those left behind blasted by a bomb
Their remains soon would turn manure sold for few rand
Within the last of the tomb
Are bodies which testify failure of a magic wand.
By J_amaze.
Comments
Post a Comment