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The Pathfinders

Rating: 3.1

Night, and a bitter sky, and strange birds crying,
The wan trees whisper and the winds make moan,
Here where in ultimate peace their bones are lying
In gaunt waste places that they made their own,
Beyond the ploughed lands where the corn is sown.

Death, and untrodden ways, and night before them,
From sheltering homes and friendly hearths they came;
Far from the mouldering dust of those that bore them
They rest in silence now and know no fame,

No proud stone speaks, no waters lip the name.
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Michelle Claus 06 June 2014

And so it goes throughout our human story... *No proud stone speaks*... countless unsung heroes

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Kevin Patrick 06 June 2014

Slow sinks the glowing flame and fades the ember, No bright star flickers and the woods are stark, But still our children's children will remember The swift forerunners, bearers of the ark, Who lit the beacons in the uncharted dark. Tremendous amount of beauty and depth, the language is rich and flow with natural rhythm, a really great modern poem of the day

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Savita Tyagi 06 June 2014

Beautiful poem. Brings out so many emotions.

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Manonton Dalan 06 June 2012

he could be one of the pathfinders.

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