My land in flames,
The enemy’s enormous,
A giant spider spins its fylfot web
Of death, and suffering, and slavery.
My people: men, women, children
Turning overnight into the old time warriors.
Their armor – unbroken spirit, and unshaken faith
In triumph of goodness over dark and evil.
Forefathers’ blessing is bestowed on them,
Fills them with grace as they go out to battle
For what is right. The struggle’s long and fierce,
But ends in splendor, when the rugged banners
Of what once was an undefeated army
Are thrown in heaps onto the cobble stones
Of my own city. For there is no force
That cows my land, my people into slaving.
The past not so remote, but forgetful
Man tends to be, so let us not forget.
May our minds turn into marble stelas
With names imprinted on them, names of millions.
Let’s read them all, all spelled in golden letters,
And bow our heads in silence,
© Alexandra A. Palmer
Live for the Love of it,
The Happy Amateur