Tuesday, June 12, 2018

dream of a hero

in the insane rioting of his soul
he knew he had to play the role
of a debonair lothario
and go on with the show

as the huns rode over the hill
he stood perfectly still
and with the trace of a smile
said "darling, i may be a while"

"not too long, darling, please"
she sank to her satin covered knees
through the french window he strolled
to a sunset red and gold

where are the heroes of yesteryear?
who laughed at fate and smiled at fear?
and what would they now defend?
for, alas, we have come to the end

the garden is barren of flowers
the day is bereft of hours
the telephone in the drawing room
waits for a call from an empty tomb

No comments:

Post a Comment