Hawkman
07-27-2010, 07:40 PM
Where is the horse that was running?
Where is the rider who fell?
Where are the legions that once marched away
in tales, the old seldom tell?
Leather and steel, the tramping of feet;
the roads now long buried by grass,
pointing the way back to home, it is said,
but there’s no one to ask as I pass.
Sunken lanes lurking with wheel-rutted tracks
hidden in time by the land,
trees that have grown on the edges of banks
shading the past with their fans.
Barrows and long-ships that hold in their cysts
chieftains and kings of the past,
beneath swelling turf in the ancient green fields
their relics were laid there to last.
Their dust is now mingled and one with the ground,
earth that they ruled in their prime;
where legends and rumours survive of their deeds
they fade with the passing of time.
Their voices I hear as they call on the wind,
their wealth I can see in the sky;
at sunset’s last touch as it bruises the hills,
their splendour beheld by my eye.
This is my home and I’m cast of the clay
that history shaped with its hands,
their presence is close to me here where I stand,
descendant and heir to their lands.
Where is the rider who fell?
Where are the legions that once marched away
in tales, the old seldom tell?
Leather and steel, the tramping of feet;
the roads now long buried by grass,
pointing the way back to home, it is said,
but there’s no one to ask as I pass.
Sunken lanes lurking with wheel-rutted tracks
hidden in time by the land,
trees that have grown on the edges of banks
shading the past with their fans.
Barrows and long-ships that hold in their cysts
chieftains and kings of the past,
beneath swelling turf in the ancient green fields
their relics were laid there to last.
Their dust is now mingled and one with the ground,
earth that they ruled in their prime;
where legends and rumours survive of their deeds
they fade with the passing of time.
Their voices I hear as they call on the wind,
their wealth I can see in the sky;
at sunset’s last touch as it bruises the hills,
their splendour beheld by my eye.
This is my home and I’m cast of the clay
that history shaped with its hands,
their presence is close to me here where I stand,
descendant and heir to their lands.