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England mourns for her fading eyes,
   a gateway to fields the soul did dream!
England cries for her dulling might,
   a hardened picture is all but a scream!
England hopes for her futures born,
   a nurtured fallacy begets their start!
England tries for her August dream ...
   a fighter still clings from years apart!

   A solemn drum of thrills,
      an immortal heart so still!
   A modest staunch to the end,
      a waning soul aglow to bend
      a future afar ... dust from the rain
      may linger still,
         but not in her grain!

England bores our comrades faith,
   an innermost thought that comes to be!
England frees our wondrous remains,
   an echo may sing ... but the birds are free!
A little bird on snow filled knolls
   cries “run, run” ... frozen instead!
   “Where is my friend?” the picture said
   as the avalanche lulls the sweetness of day ...
      away!

A little tree, stripped and *****
   cries “why, why?” ... victims at rest!
   “Where is the justice?” the picture pressed
   as the wonders fall to the vision away ...
      sway?

A little bear in snow filled caves
   cries “thanks, thanks!” ... a whisper dressed!
   “Where are the others?” the picture guessed
   as the memorials stand in new life today ...
      grey?
My friend was she; she of little time
   as my tree did thaw in snow fall dreams.
My heart was she; she of little mind
   as my beat did stop in rain filled streams.

   I beseeched her love; love was blind
      in mind and soul; begets a hole
      my tree shall grow;
         unknowns to show ...

My place was she; she of little space
   as my eyes did slow in sun soaked leaves.
My reverie was she; she of little sleep
   as my heart did close in choir filled weaves.
My wrath did grow, my foe did not;
   my faith did slow in all my knots!
My heart did slow, my foes did not;
   my dream did flow in all my plots!

Their malice was watered
   with tears, from fears, my face did show;
   their monuments grow!

My garden was bare, my foes was not;
   my soul in bloom with all my clots!
My morning was lost, my foes was not;
   my evening defaced in all my spots!

Their malice did bore
   these tears, in fear, my heart of stone;
   their triumphs known!
I.

On this winters night,
   she came to us, unbidden.
   Frosted glass so opaque, it’s clear,
      she beckons me near;
      my fears ... abscond!

II.

On this winters morn,
   she came to us, unburdened.
   Frozen dew so hard, it holds
      the baubles in folds;
      my love ... foretold?

III.

On this winters day,
   she came to us, undisturbed.
   Grassy knolls so sweet, it’s hold
      kept out the cold;
      my dream ... realised!

IV.

In this winters tale,
   she came to me, unfurled.
In this winters tale,
   she came to me, foretold.
In this winters tale,
   I’m the winner, but she
      is winters majestic dream ...
      I’ll be all I can be!
William Troup Apr 10
Morning has come as eve awaits
   in November moonlight; my heart did take
   her youthful smile, her ageing grace;
   but what is she to you?
      an endearing face?

Morning has gone as eve reclaims
   the November moonlight; my voice did blame
   her wistful eyes, her wasted hours;
   but what is she to you?
      an echoing flower?

Twilight now looms as eve farewells
   to November moonlight; my sleep did break
   her hopeful hand, her wishful mind;
   but what is she to you?
      a clanging chime?
      again?
Their dreams are diurnal; needs of many
   are seldom said.  Flowers grow in summer
   soil in tumultuous cheers; playful voices
      now dancing in glee
         around tranquil trees ...
      birds are singing,
         their minds are free?

Their dreams are reclining,
   their feet are soulful streams.
   Winters blanket awaits in red
      to climb the precipice?
      wasted instead!
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