I see apes walking on ice,
I see snakes slithering on snow,
lively eyes indulge my dream,
and it haunts me.

worry, worry, worry.
marked drips on a stained walkway
catch my stare so often
I forgot I was looking

by two levels, I drop.
the ground awaits me.
today, I am sure-footed;
I will not buckle.

an enigma passes:
I wrest free my heart,
but too late!
all that is left...
a cold afternoon,
a quiet memory,
a regretful encounter.

and countless others
who, in unfortunate confidence
might turn away in disdain...
they won't know a flower's scent.

if I were one of them,
I would stand up and say,
"Advance, Collingchance!
Attach your legions to mine,
and together we will conquer!"
or I would approach you like a highwayman
and make demands of you....

but since I am not,
my only demand
is that you accept me
for what I am.

Tepid damp and lukewarm night,
Build your camp by rivers bright;
Sable black and and somber grey,
Silt the river's arms away.

Island tenements rent for cheap,
Bakèd bricks in plinths lie deep;
Stores of merchants and their wives,
Sheltered from the thund'rous tides.

Glance on that maternal shrine,
Softly angled toward the Rhine;
See the men with flowing beards,
Seldom entertaining fears.

Moon illumes a stony pose,
Sun sustains a garden rose;
Temple pillars bathed in or,
Leave mute shadows on the floor.

Olifant horns begin to sound,
Tribesmen fall upon the town;
Riding with the northern gust,
Trampling the homes to dust.

Yet, as gateside rocks abound,
From the ashes, rises now,
Where that city met disgrace,
A mighty fortress in its place.

red airplane:
whir whir whir.

red airplane:
whir whir whir whir whir

over cliff
under sky
in the currents:
fly fly fly
ᶠˡʸ ᶠˡʸ ᶠˡʸ ᶠˡʸ

I should have smiled
when I entered,
dusted like a corner table
with flakes of Maine ash:
grandiose visions of what
I sought to be.
Passing long marble rows;
walking briskly to comfort;
ushered in by the chill.
Neighbors might see me,
but I am cold,
so I do not smile.

In the longhouse,
they celebrate man's
dominion over time.
They pluck paper crafts
by their roots,
and fashion a little gift for me.
Oh, I am merry inside,
singing of renewal,
but I'm tired,
so I do not smile.

In open theater,
upon the carbonite stage,
I find myself
balancing on a tightrope,
while the audience roars and jeers.
I could play their games,
and surely they'd accommodate,
but I am bare,
so I do not smile.

Then, I'm out in the quarry,
cutting stone into thirds;
sweating from the hot sun.
A family sits across the way --
see how they laugh with one another!
If I were born
under a different sign,
I might join them;
but as this is my duty,
I do not smile.

No, I'll walk in circles
like the rest.
I'll make certain
the boilers are filled,
without time
for green-speckled wishes,
or chatting with friends,
old and new:
It's up and down
the stairs with you!
...To see that crescent
creeping through
the winter sky
would do my heart well....
There it is,
alight on the trail!
Yet still I do not smile.

On the road to destiny,
stuck behind two sisters on horseback....
If I were free,
I would slow
to hear their pleasant conversation,
but as I'm in a hurry,
I spur my horse onward,
my eyes set straight ahead;
my cloak whips as I pass,
and I do not smile.

At the great meeting of chieftains,
we are all
seated in the hall.
I feel the weight
of approaching weeks,
and the cold desert river
that awaits.
My face rises and falls
like the tide on the Aral Sea.
In soft surprise,
I feel a presence behind me.
Surrounded by circling vultures....
No wonder I hesitate
to expose my flesh.
Sands penetrate my eyelids.
I take a quick glimpse,
but I am watched,
so I do not smile.

Soon, I come upon an oasis.
The water soothes
my parched throat,
and I,
a forager,
dismount.
A hunting party makes camp
on the opposite bank.
I peer out through the shrubs....
Only a simple request
would rescue me,
but I am principled,
so I do not smile.

Watching fish jump by the water,
I long for that fading mornglow,
in tattered pots
and cairns,
by shuttered blinds,
where my emotions were kept.
All my love
is cradled in the shade.
Time moves on with haste,
and I do not smile.

At day's end,
I gather my belongings.
I rush to climb the peaks,
that I might meet her on the path.
Again, my heart lifts!
Her face appears in the distance.
With joy, I walk close to her.
I smile a little,
but does she notice?
How can one day's expression
erase those months of melancholy?
Now, my whole body forces a sigh;
I listen quietly to Otemoyan,
and I do not smile.

gardener
I am not ready
don't pluck me

If I were bold and young,
As a sailor's son,
For sure I'd sail away;
To the land where my fathers lived,
And I wouldn't give
A thought for me today.

For there in my quiet ville,
At the foot of a broad hill,
Reaching up so high;
I'd go tripping with my love,
Like the fond May dove,
Round the fog of the morning sky.

A fair-haired lass
My love would be,
Come from afar
To dance with me;
And like the dust,
We'd shelter in the caves;
And like the dust,
We'd blow away.

the sapping dusk denies my dreams frenetic,
it ebbs in icy cattail streams uncouth;
in rural woodland glades, I’d wax poetic,
but shoddy snowbank streets are all my youth.

When ancients in our eyes waged war in green Gaul,
He fought for new wealth and nobleman's glory,
He rose from mud where slave-spears lay shattered,
And raised the good name of his house from disgrace.
Binding giants in a favorable pact,
The consulship could well be attained,
But men of the day could not perceive greatness,
And barred him from beloved Rome.
So he rode out and vanquished the untamed Gauls,
Who once had brought Rome to its fearful knees,
Winning victory after victory in forests of the north,
Splitting oaks in the east, where his sword marred its sheen.
When fleets by Britain's cliffs hemmed the horizon,
When the seat of the Sphinx was polished marble-gold,
There were ten thousand Greeks could tell of his exploits,
And ten hundred Egyptians who claimed to know him.
With rude steel, he mastered the Mediterranean,
And over the Earth he brandished civilization.
In later years, his heirs spread like a stain upon the land;
The seas too were dyed with Roman sails,
And every coin minted bore the face of Caesar.
Even now, though the empire is hardened like iron,
And purple luxury replaces the crimson of war,
There are still a few among us who remember
Our young and mighty red-feathered conqueror.

within the forest sings a bird
a rambling song of life and lack;
amid the fuss he can't be heard,
but heaven's whisper calls him back.

they ride along
the mountain road:
kashgar and
the heron girl
crane their necks
to the shaman's haze,
ploughing out
the humpback’s trail.

with a slow hup-hup, up
down powder trot,
a boombox laugh
and a slapstrum knot;
walking the lake,
talking of the bay,
savor the night:
hear what they say!

bronze battalions
beat the prince,
hide the sambas
inside of their hats;
a summer tent,
a sterling pearl:
kashgar and
the heron girl.

they rode along
the mountain road,
past water cranes
and lily haze;
roaming slow
the worldshell snail,
ploughing out
the humpback trail.

Bold Captain Gray comes down
To islands warm,
Where tawny men are chattel;
Sees brightly Patrick Spens
Survive a storm,
And wants to win the battle!

But when the cannon
Shots roar all 'round them
And punch a hole in th' aft deck;
Laments that Spens was found
A man too "holey"
Murmur around the carrack!

What were his last words,
Tell them to me boys,
Or I'll get raw with fury!
For Patrick owed your
Weight in Spanish coin;
God stablished I his jury!

But when the men had
Still not loosed their lips,
E'en under pain or menace;
Says Gray, what senators
Be these lads who still
Possess no fear of penance?

Then comes the lookout boy
From up above,
Where long the mast had held him;
Says, Patrick Spens just
Gave me his last word;
See here, it's writ on vellum!

Then up the captain roars...
And makes to burn the stores...
For tricks the crew had played...
With rage, the captain said:
     Beehive the rightless dogs, to hell ‘em,
     Give me the answer scrawled on vellum!

Calais was a small disappointment,
And Ams-too-**** good to be true,
So while the red orb is yet to set,
I'll clear out my debt,
And try to forget,
And gather fresh hope on the morrow new.

Vesoul, that was my destination:
I gave up Quebec and Madrid!
Gladly forsaking old
Constantinople, for
Paris awaited my trip.

But I can't make a living in Bangkok,
With poncy jazzmen such as these.
The coffers of kings are busted and broke,
And my heart craves more
Than ashes and smoke,
So tour Guatemal', if you please.

Goodbye to pretty Latakia,
I turn from your shore with such sorrow.
Your flowery air I long to breathe,
Instead of standing alone in the street;
I want to return in a golden-fringed dream...
And gather fresh hope on the morrow.

Gazing across verdant moss carpets
And hills cut gently by the rail bridge,
A traveler paints on a platform
Undisclosed, watching the bright cove fan,
Unscaleable, into fjorded mounts.
Brush bristles blot confident masses,
Humming while the thinner brush defines,
But how can they capture in one stroke
The place where foam-film ends abruptly
And gives way to stillwater mirrors?
Or that distant rim, broad and exposed,
Where sea and sky blend and lift islands,
And white clouds roll on forevermore?

What would a soldier sacrifice
To lay himself on cobbled dirt,
That honestmen might vow by oath
To hold together the union?

His purse, his purpose, e'en his life,
Our knight would place on hallowed earth;
The silker, though, would rather beg
To hold together the union.

In victory's arms I sleep at night,
Beneath the fierce pharoanic sun
That built and broke the Umayyads
To hold together the union.

I traveled all the ancient lands,
I found no joy where'er I trod;
Ferns are green where rivers spring,
But lauded hills bear blackened soil,
And joy resides where dwelleth God.

The dawn of man is close at hand,
The fall of man is past its due;
The sword lies shattered in the sand
To hold together the union.

Cross-battles waged on crisping ice,
I won't for martial fame partake,
In fear that I would be obliged
To hold together the union.

Of mortal faith I haven't cared
But, lying now on cobbled dirt,
By faith, I solemnly declare
To hold together the union.

An eternal shadow lies in the high cave,
Sliding the sound of birds from the lofty mountains.
The icy arms of the peak follow them:
Hand in hand down the quiet ***** they go.

Wide awake in shadows of the night,
I spy a moonlit spectre on the right.
The left, a brazen horse of fiery rage,
Styled in ebon ink upon the page;
Trampling prudence down where it may trod,
Spiriting the righteous unto God.
Mane as black as hills beneath the mount,
Where ashen sands and lava wash about,
To gently take the will of those who've come
Afar to find withdrawal from the sun.
Bristling, glistening, shrieking 'neath the moon,
Whistling as it sprints to usher doom.
Afeared my soul appear a facile theft,
I meekly pull my conscience from the left.

Honored companion:
When you return,
let us go down to yon forest,
as our hearts have yearned.
I know a girl of the green
bright balms and flowering hair;
when spring comes to the valley,
she will wait for you there.

As hunter shoots the stag,
so huntress strikes the lad's heart;
leaves crunch beneath their boots,
in crisp handhold they won't part.
Grass drinks the gold dew flood,
orange sun never wants to wane;
but far beyond the verdant wood,
a martial voice calls out your name.

So grasp your sword by hardened hilt,
and with pike upon your shoulder,
live not for the joys of life;
live but to grow older.
Then mount the hills with me,
cast aside your roving bow;
for ours is a life of misery,
and in summer we must go.

wrested from the reeds was a man aged twenty,
a poor and dying man with skin as black as coal;
the height of a birch stump, the worth of a penny:
a hefty blanket allergen with tatters for a soul.

Let my past be published now,
I care for it no longer;
Look between my righteous things
To see I was the wronger.
Gather all the worries
I'd fret about in winter;
Shove them off the highest cliff,
Make them crack and splinter.

Traipsing in the gardenside,
Dancing in the hollow;
Feeling for a mason's nook,
Sweet Amontillado.
Down within the castle walls,
Down among the relics;
Bearded faces line the halls,
Lilting in Goidelic.

Slowing pace to stop and smell
Of a strange antiquity;
Thinking on a silver day
That happened once in Brittany.
Countrymen with muskets bared,
Bent on fiery shot,
Pounced upon the zealous rogues
Of Napoleonic lot.

Wand'ring mind, drop your guard,
Stop your nagging ways;
Hark! the drap'ry's bold aura
Welcomes warmer days.
Happiness is fleeting,
Sadness is extinct,
So let my every passing thought
Be mindful and succinct.

eleventh letter
tin pan alley raindance blues
sorrowful sister

Swelter of summer in the veld.
An old buggy hums along,
Playing a German tune.
The bushbucks scatter from cover.
Roland dismounts; his partner too
Stares out across the thicket sea,
With quavering jaw, puffs his pipe
And slings a hunting gun.
Says he to Roland:
“Here, we are masters of the plain!
In the company of beasts,
We should not be lonely,
Yet my heart cries out
For land and love that I left.”

Roland stamps a dusty rock.
Arms hang freely, eyes sunken low.
His bronzed face,
Marked with the age of a soldier,
Nurtures a sad smile....
“In the land of Amazons,
We roved like bandits
And lived like kings;
We could take whatever we wished,
Amidst the cries of desperate men….
Don't you see, brother?
Men like us are destined
Never to find happiness.”

...Evening birdsong ushers
Cool night over the veld.

I live in a nation called America,
and, today, I am human.

i would like
to take
a shuttle to the moon:
a dear rocket through the blue!

as i cling to the wing
of the rickety thing,
i would sing a little
faring daring tune

if the moon were bright,
brighter than night,
and made of the stuff
that we covet and lust,

i would like
to take home
a piece of it for you.

I know a land of salt
and pepper stalks and moss,
whose jagged, hazy coast
a thousand flowers bears —
of Ireland I boast.

Even now my heart is sick
for a home I never had.
If I were there,
what I would do,
I'll tell to you....

I'd show my love the mountain's nooks,
I'd pounce the foeman's daring rooks,
and plunder every dusty book,
and sleep in emerald vales.
We'd clamber up to a secret cave
and there we'd dwell,
away from the pell-mell,
and fast away in purple robes,
pretending we were noble-born
(for Ireland, we ought to be),
we'd in defiance hunger stave.

See now, her cloud legions marching in step
like flares emerging from the wood.
While horses roam her sunlit plains
and flowers shudder in her breeze;
while puddles form in shallow pools,
my watered mind accustoms trees
of bleak and twisted nature,
on the wild icicle river,
coldly biting my knees.

But here afar away,
there's treasure under every
glistening leaf,
'twixt frond and fern,
bristle and bramble,
and bounding stream.
By daylight,
Eire counts every rock;
at starlight,
assesses her stock.

I know a land
whose greenery bursts
in the morning dew,
and gives hopeful cause
to a hundred generations
of stoic sword-brethren
flashing down the coast,
singing their jolly tune,
as the oak decks are mounted
with freedom's guns
emboldening battle new.

Her amber-gilded name spears through
clouded sea and Cambrian cliff:
if every isle were touched as this!
by saintly light from Atlas' air.
She is the jewel of the isles,
the song of countless souls.
As men march down her
summer roads to meet their
tender-hearted lovers at home in
comfort from callous kings, the
breeze will bring news of another
christening or crossing... for then
each girl will spy him coming, and
make haste to alert the town,
and they will all turn out with joy
to welcome home their darling boy;
to herald the ending of famine and war,
and so they will shout for centuries more!

single digit self esteem

i like very much the sound of
my bones beneath your bones—
although comparatively softer
than mine—still made from
protons and neutrons and electrons,
all deservingly placed
in their element.
i like bonding with you,
and bridging the black crevasse;
hold me warm,
so i'll forget how
water feels in solid form.

Dancing down the argent lane,
Splashing graceless cares away;
Whirling round in youthful bliss,
Halting night to board my dreamship.
As the song beats "murasaki",
The sidewalk gleams, and I am happy.

Can ebon wings ever quell
The mockers' cry over hell?
The thunder of their wrath?
And starry things, other worlds,
The rent, sour universe,
Which seldom halts their path?

Purity of mind,
Wholeness of being;
What caterpillars lose,
Butterflies are achieving.

Oureana, young and beautiful
Rests in her den of lavish comfort,
Looks from her Moorish palace balcony,
Sipping honey from a wooden bowl.
Draped in red damask and easter green,
She watches the soldier ride below.
"Princess, do not look at him!"
Softly comes the desperate hum
Of a servant overlooked and ignored.
"Even now I wish you peace,
To hear the crack of battle nevermore."

Somber lie the hills
o'er which my Sally flies.
Darkness clothes the mills,
and creeps by every corner.
Crimson fills the springs,
where once children drank --
like them, I choke
and struggle to speak,
and I sit in the company
of pleasant nature.
I watch bitterly
as the trees grow:
they know nothing of my sorrow,
nor how I have toiled.

Taunting, their gaze peers
down at me from above,
and the crest of every wave,
lit by the dawn.
Oh, if I could be with her:
my pride, my love!
Contently I would
spend my days abroad.
But since she is lost, I fear,
and the cruel wind
kisses me in her stead,
I wish at least to return
to my native land, so dear,
where among those quiet meadows
I would rest my head.

From north to south, in every province hence,
A shout rings out, a call to arms—and war:
That snake which slithers silent o'er the fence,
Shall swallow swift this ancient land once more.
As rough the beating of the battle drum,
Still rougher are the hands of men who ****;
Though noble cowards scruple to succumb,
Too oft are they dismissed for men who will.
Let rivers red run over tranquil fields,
And stain the hands of peasant, peer, and priest,
Till foes who've wronged us either die or yield,
Then only will this nation scorned know peace.
This way, I guess a billion souls or more
Have fallen victim to barbaric war.

On that bleak frontier, thousands suffered
For the Emperor's cruel project;
Men with hollow stomachs making endless mounds
To fashion his recreation hall.
The monster was alike to its creation:
Heartless in the handling of generals.
When Li Guang, an expert strategist,
Fell into the hands of barbarians,
He played possum and seized a horse,
Riding for nine miles to rejoin his men,
Spitting arrows at his pursuers.
After bringing his troop safely home,
He was recommended for execution.
...Woe befalls he who settles there,
Where exhausted horses go to pace,
Where the crows are the only ones eating.
Should the rice harvest fail, a soldier will go
To the red northern gate and die unmourned.
The fruits of the south are sweet in all seasons,
But the fruit of the Long Wall is ruin and death.

I saw a fly
resting weakly on the wall.
I smiled, because I was
feeling the same way.
It made me think of you:
Would you smile at a fly,
and lend a small bit of
deeply sought attention?
Or would you remain aloof?
...If I can greet a fly,
why not others too?
How easily you spread joy
to all that you touch;
I will do the same....
Good morning, fly!

Oureana, Queen of Granada,
Looks from her Moorish palace veranda,
Reclined in a den of lavish repose,
Sipping sweet milk from a porcelain bowl.
Draped in damask and easter green,
She watches the soldier ride below.

“Resist your whim, don’t look at him!”
Softly comes the desperate hum
Of a servant forgot and ignored.
“For you, this sin evokes the din
Of sieging torrents, wind and war…
I wish, my friend, you’d hear again
The crack of battle nevermore.”

As everything bright must transition to night,
so too comes the evening of all my graces:
the sands, the salts, the waxing wine;
the hunt-and-pecks in diverse places.

Pour me another cup of almonds, then,
only this time make them into milk....
...why bear the texture of harsh fabric,
when your lips could be gliding over silk?

I dreamt that they would take you.
You may think me a fool,
But of this I am not wrong.
My dream was real in every way:
The dull, the dim, the black and grey,
In certainty, I saw you fall,
And I will suffer most of all,
If you will not my warning heed,
If you’ll succumb to lust and greed,
And let them take you and make you bleed,
As I dreamt that they would do.

When you are gone, what will I do?
Shall I go home, alone and blue?
What will your father think of you,
Who let herself be taken?

Your sister will cease to play the harp,
Your brother will sit alone in the dark,
Poor mother will own a broken heart,
Her weeping spirit shaken.

Oh, you might think me a fool,
But this time I'm not wrong.
If you’ll ignite that inner spark,
And tell the flame to pierce the dark,
Then you may know the morning lark,
And nothing on Earth can break you.

Still, you ignore my pleas,
As I sink unto my knees,
And nothing I say—
No warning imploring—
Can stifle your hum and wake you.
Alas! I’ll cry, I’ll sigh, I’ll die!
For I dreamt that they will take you.

O, rolling river of silvery shore,
Take me to my home once more;
I'm weary and tired,
My soul is spent,
And my body will water the fields.
Will water the fields
Above the clouds,
In gentle, whispering vales.

For love! (For love!)
Endure! (Endure!)
Hosanna! my enduring love,
Forever!

Carry me on,
Carry me swiftly to ashen groves,
The rocks that will become my home;
And lay me on the Roman road,
Where travelers may remark.
They may remark,
When passing by,
With chariots on their wings:

For shame! (For shame!)
For grief! (For grief!)
Oh! a kind-hearted fellow was he;
May he rest in lasting peace,
Forever!

Paper bags running down the avenue
Cars swerving to avoid them
Companies scrambling for their revenue
Crocodiles in the mists of Tiananmen

Life is not a heaven or a hell
Life is but a finite chain reaction
Dares to be a selfish organelle
Won't evoke the fearsome ire of faction

water trembles on black lily night,
rainshowers' sudden splash wakes me.
looking from a faint orange glass,
a single star shines atop the city.
my heart sails across the stream
to the street where you live.
rain has stopped, air is clear,
I am walking on a sunlit day.
alone, I meet you; curious
we are to see each other,
like two well-met bluejays.

how is life?
well, it's good
so is mine

water trembles on black lily night,
my hands slip down the pane.
I wring the hang-down curtain,
and welcome in the summer rain.

Pretty skies over tree-shielded river
The fading call of birds
Pink swirls surround the crescent moon.

Day transitions to night
A bus tries to improve its self-image
I empty a pail of sweat over the balcony.

I ride through the birkwood,
Passing snowbanks on every corner.
Day's end light blinds me.
Holiday joy turns bittersweet in my eyes,
And my lips are as dry as the air.
A fellow stranger sits by me....
Does he know he shares my name?
...Oh well, I hear a cawing:
From the window I see a hundred crows,
Circling the frozen river....
Friends laugh in the courtyard,
But I will be lonely tomorrow.

your face speaks more
than a million heartfelt adages;

travailing, you
compel stone-cold statesmen to grieve.

was it debu-
-ssy who softened my heart to say that?

a cypress dies
when it touches your tear-snuffing sleeve.

The moon above Maracaibo
Deigns to lower its great arm,
Sending broad white streaks
Across the mighty dark.

Around the lakeside chanting
Songs of the evening hum,
Couples dwell beneath her,
Drinking their watery ***.

The moon above Maracaibo
Likes to glint in your glass,
Tasting a bit of that mixture,
Dabbling in perfect romance.

But when the day arrives
To turn the blue grass green,
It waits for pitch-black night
To make Maracaibo sheen.

We are the forlorn wing
The flyers on the foam
We did not volunteer
To leave our sacred home

As takeoff day draws near
We bid our bitter byes
And swallow down our fear
With thoughts of mother's eyes

The rain won't change a thing
But still we pray it pours
As if that pattering
Upon our hangar doors

Would be a good excuse
To ground a dozen planes
We know it is no use
But still we hope it rains

Tomorrow the sun will rise
as usual, the moon will also sleep
in a harmonic star-cradle;
the voice of longing will emanate
Tomorrow, from our lips;
bright morning and two-days,
waking safely somehow in our
terrace of the dawn. I hope
the chance will come for you
to view the river city
in all its sunrise glory
Tomorrow,
before the latesummer ends.

Then disappear,
fly far away,
bound over cloud,
hide in blue solace.

But never forever,
dear dove, I pray,
for light and love
are with you always.

Down in the valley of the fleeting stream,
Parched Syrian tongues are crying aloud,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where war took away my sweetheart.

She was bright, now she is blue,
Like the cataracts dividing the stream,
And the tearducts dividing my eyes,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where war took away my sweetheart,

Torn in our tumult
From the bleak parade,
Starve we all like her delicate face,
Now forever blemished.

Therefore let us dine on hardtack!
Suffer for the things of the marble world;
Fast along the toiling road,
To the land of reward, we go.

I compared her to a flower:
The fairest fragrance ever conceived;
To think her smile is a nest for ants,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where death took away my sweetheart.

Alone I sit, I weep,
        My face is clenched by nightingales;
A country stained by grief,
        At night, I hear their biting wails
From ill-wrought molten blades,
        Alike to man and woman;
How can I reason fate away
        By crying o'er her *****?

Change these feelings about me!
I am eager to see her again,
But I won't obey the winds
Above, above the sacred river—
As far as the fragrance is concerned.

No more mourning in silence!
Turn your plowshares into swords,
Let the weak say, "I am strong";
We may yet have the final word,
Before the vanguard departs this world.

So the eagle
bold commands the plain,
and the king of
the jungle is the lion,
but one King alone
can tell the moon to wane,
or send the tempest
winds to India flyin'.

Not for honor,
men have carved the badge
of the flaming
cross upon their shields,
but to strike and go
where God hath shown,
and die among the
favored in the fields.