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Click hereAn Indian summer, autumn storms defied –
The last lush grass lay gathered up in bales
And peaceful sounds of grazing sheep belied
The tales of terror from the friendly dales
Yet down the lane the weary people came.
In silent tears they made their way somehow,
The poor and destitute, the old, the lame –
Some clutched a bag of clothes, some drove a cow,
Some brought a dog and al their faces wore
The same expression: fear and bleak despair
Of all they could not manage any more,
And ghastly, hollow eyes too full of care –
And of their passing all there was to show
Were clashing parties shifting off the blame,
A photograph we rather wouldn't know
And villages of tents without a name.
a note to let you know what I'm doing, I am looking for a set of poems of yours, I am going fast, unless I see something really...you can be assured i 5ed, no thanks are needed. On another note, I am not quite convinced that you are not my "Professor Moriarty" an alt. of an ex-friend, hence a bit of baiting on my part. That ends from me.
nice
The last lush grass lay gathered up in bales
You paint a vivid picture of heartbreak and sorrow and pain! The human existence is one of such sharp oppositions, isn't it? And whether joy or sorrow, each is sharply felt! A very poignant poem, my friend!
Or maybe not. Such is the world that we live in. Nice write, poor praise for humanity.