"Bubbling up in our own good time-- online."
Groundwaters Publishing, LLC
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Volume 4 Issue 3
Page 14
Page 14
His promise full, the tyrant falls to earth;
His wreckage dusts the waves about the throne;
The many mourners weep, recount his worth:
Small appetite have they to weigh his bones!
These peasants loved his clever wag of tongue:
Their cries alike to gulls lamenting rain;
But we, who by his sordid works were stung,
Perhaps, should wisely mute our sad refrains;
For how, pray tell, are tears spent nobly now,
When oft we cried to gods stone deaf "Reprieve!"
And for our base assertions, forced to bow,
Lest from him iron wrath we would receive?
Think not that love is absent from my ire;
But ev'ry grief bequeath'd me lights his pyre...
His wreckage dusts the waves about the throne;
The many mourners weep, recount his worth:
Small appetite have they to weigh his bones!
These peasants loved his clever wag of tongue:
Their cries alike to gulls lamenting rain;
But we, who by his sordid works were stung,
Perhaps, should wisely mute our sad refrains;
For how, pray tell, are tears spent nobly now,
When oft we cried to gods stone deaf "Reprieve!"
And for our base assertions, forced to bow,
Lest from him iron wrath we would receive?
Think not that love is absent from my ire;
But ev'ry grief bequeath'd me lights his pyre...
| The King is Dead: An English Sonnet (#3 of Three Sonnets) By Dade Cariaga |