| Walking
Tour Walking a land of
white stones
I breathe the silence that became a nation.
Ghostly taps play the shape of leaves
when ordered ranks pass slowly in review
I breathe the silence that became a
nation
where streets are washed with the liquid of despair
when ordered ranks pass slowly in review
marching to generals of promised oblivion.
Where streets are washed with the liquid
of despair
amid homes too frail to vanquish the night.
Marching to generals of promised oblivion
thirty miles and a world away.
Amid homes too frail to vanquish the
night
frightened squads rehearse their own demise.
Thirty miles and a world away
I walk a land of white stones.
© Deane P. Goodwin |
