Sam Bamford


Old Legends And Myths

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.

[Report Error]