Prologue

In the end, the bitter end, he who orders
the death and destruction of another nation
shall, himself, sleep the sleep of the vanquished.

I
Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh
And call out feebly in the midst of night
Calling, fearsome as their bleak wanton cry
And frighting, as the unthinkable fright
Until  the dark of their plight passes by.

II
For, cold are the eyes that slumber in fear
And cold is the heart of the soul that sleeps
And sour is the taste of the sleeper's tear
And dire are the many secrets he keeps
For, wild is the scream that seeps in his ear.

III
The ruler of tracts o'er the eastern lands
Where red is the sky and black are the days
And burned are the souls the ruler commands
As flaming night comes and flaming night stays  
So, then a nation betrays at his hands.

IV
Nothing is priceless or free of its cost
And value is learned when payment is due
For, battles are won though, wars can be lost,
(Battles are many yet, victories few)
And dead mouths sound as a new dream is tossed.

Epilogue

Sleep heavy and sleep long as you are,
at last, held to account for your sins.
Payment shall be heavy and long
and shall last for eternity.

When sun on Taormina sinks
Its lull will paint the evening still
In pastel, scarlet, orchid pinks.

Far yonder star, in silence, winks
So well aware the air will chill
When sun on Taormina sinks.

The boundless vista slowly shrinks
With twilight tints at nighttide's will
In pastel, scarlet, orchid pinks.

And, all at sea, the ocean drinks
The gentle rain from off the hill
When sun on Taormina sinks.

The solar sage above re-thinks
And yields a sundown-coloured spill
In pastel, scarlet, orchid pinks.

The light of dawn here interlinks
With dark of dusk, the day to ****,
When sun on Taormina sinks
In pastel, scarlet, orchid pinks.

The winds come to me from the fields of sleep
Where dreams are blown out of the shallow hills
And I, in my solitude, do rejoice
As I take my comfort within their voice
Which visits me as the cool evening stills
And is rinsed by raindrops that mildly weep.

Gone is the rainbow and tincture of day
Lost in the clouds as they swim in the air
And I, in my quietness, drift afar
By merely the light of a silver'd star
Where only the souls of the sleeping dare
Seek a place that is distant - far away.

In the deepest of night, the dead of dark,
When the silent shadows hide from the light
For, shadows are secrets mellowed by age
And, ages are timeless, robbed of their rage,
And rage is bewildered, lost in the night
Yet, still sighs its echo deafingly stark.

Where is the morning to dazzle and glow ?
Where are the sunbeams to fever the heart ?
Yes! morning will come, as sure as the winds,
When the grey of the dusk slowly rescinds
And the fields of sleep will fleetly depart
And the dreams of the hills aimlessly go.

Beyond the moor and mountain crest
In valleys green and still
Ten thousand times I've done my best
And all about the idle hill.

When first my way to fair I took
Beneath the blue of day
For willows in the icy brook
In valleys miles away.

When in the moon the long road lies
And down the sighing wind in vain
Spent in star-defeated sighs
And what's to show for all my pain?

Oh, when I was in love with you
To-morrow I shall miss you less
The knot that makes one flesh of two
For a faith the world confessed.

Velvet paper tinctured pink,
A red rose at its crest;
The whittled feather, bathed in ink,
Set to bare its best.
A lambent candle close at hand
With dancing, flitting flare;
Where evening translates its command
And nothing stirs the air.

Words are authored, truly writ,
Where, from the soul they flow;
As on the page they snugly sit,
Affection to bestow.
Filling out each careful line,
Each one a work of art,
Hand and mind, with pen, entwine
Concerted to the heart.

And when the tender prose she'll read
And tastes the chaste romance.
She feels a shivered chill, indeed,
Deep in her breast ~ per chance?
And as the fondest words engage,
Seen through her moistened eyes:
A teardrop falls to blot the page
And stays and never dries.

The chestnut tree within the glade,
One half-a-mile past Windy Lea,
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

A friend, indeed, in her I made,
She stood upright, aloft was she ~
The chestnut tree within the glade.

Out in the breeze she gently swayed,
To-ing, fro-ing, so wildly free
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

Her spreading, leafy, boughs cascade,
She, open limbed to welcome me;
The chestnut tree within the glade.

Round and about, where squirrels played
And romped a happy, joyful spree
There in the cool, refreshing shade.

Yet youthful brightness starts to fade,
My eyes grow old, I barely see
The chestnut tree within the glade
There in the cool, refreshing shade.