Tuesday, 25 September 2007

St George poem Chapter 1- Part 4

A shadow passed across
The stalwart chieftain's face;
His furrowed brow drew tighter
In the manner of his race.

"Your peace is worthless, Roman!
I know your kind and kin.
I know you've men you buy and sell
And wars you always win;
I know of Gaul and German graves
And gods who love to sin.

I shun your peace, O Roman,
A peace that comes with war.
I've heard the tales of refugees
Who've seen the blood and gore
You spill upon the battlefield
From peoples you deplore.
Such peace this tribe can live without,
For though it keep us poor,
That is a little price to pay
To 'scape the Roman maw."

At this, the elder faltered.
His face grew dim and cold.
His eyes took on a distant look,
Like an ocean growing old.

His voice came out with raspy breath,
Unlike what it had been,
"Your emperors know nothing
Of the things that I have seen."

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