Cambria Poem by Frederick Brock

What pride, what passion.
Death from above.
Guild-ed Eagle lands high,
Near the home of the dove.

Indigo, turquoise, and blue,
All credulous and believing.
Harm would not come,
To the dynamic and the dreaming.

Yet the sapphire rose,
Concealed from the masses.
And fear replaced repose,
Yet distinguished from the classes.

From high up above,
The ethereal hubris flowed.
Upon the docile little river,
From the Beryl and Sage plateau.

If St Michael were to command,
The fair city below.
Retribution would be swift,
For the tragedy in tow.

But for the denizens of the Cambria
As John said shall pass.
No more pain nor dying,
Yet Inequity to the last.