Old Legends And Myths - Poem by Sam Bamford
Tell of the old, cold, legends and myths
Of the slow wet beat of the oars.
The shattered helms on the frozen grass
And the windswept song of the rowers.
Who left to tell? Stones, lichened, and grim
Stand alone where warriors fled
And the ears of corn, gathered and gone,
Were the only seed of the dead.
But say it again, what of the mists
That hid the spears from the sun?
And what of the hero who stood fast at dawn
Is it all forgotten and gone?
What still to say? Axe rusted, haft broken
The horns all winded and split
No blast can now summon the last of the host
Cold ashes no longer be lit.
Name them all, every sword, and each man
Who fought back to back at the standard
And the last helpless rally, to die but deny
The field to the foe, empty handed.
Lie still on your shield, all ill is long past,
The harpstrings broken each one
Old songs and old bones are dust in the earth
The gore and the glory are done.
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