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