Some older poetry

And when the wandering armies
Homeward finally turn
What shall they find awaits them
Where the home fires burn?

Shall they be hailed as heroes
These warriors dark and dread
With feasts set out to greet them
And rites honoring their dead?

Or shall they be reviled
By those who stayed behind
Who think that peace is bought
By straddling some line?

I’ll hang the hall for feasting
Keep a table for the dead
And nightly thank all the gods for them
Ere I lay down my head.

For I am conscious of the price
They paid for mine and me.
No matter what some care to think:
Freedom is NOT free.

25 May 2008


About Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann

I am a wife.mother, writer, cashier (hey, it helps pay the bills), Pagan who sometimes thinks too much. A jackie of all trades and mistress of none
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