Dark tree tops tousled by an angry wind,
The seething sky a drab and doomful grey;
While in the distance roiling clouds ride in,
With piercing raindrops leading up the fray.
A cannon flash does crack the waxing gloom,
Soon followed by the sounds of distant drums;
The line approaching like some fierce dragoons,
Imposing specters of the strife to come;
But you now gone, I welcome frenzied might;
If but some fearsome god would strike me down,
Or yet some warrior’s sabre of pure light
Would run me through and all my pain be gone;
And love bereft, I meet my Waterloo,
With my last breaths still singing songs of you.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.