The Reluctant Soldier: XVIII
Posted March 19th, 2017 by Gracithe1andonly
in wardly searching
Crisp and clear, green, blue, and gold; all dappled flakes
Dotting the ground beneath the trees. I forget,
On days like these, that treacherous fens are near,
Until I smell them.
I do like the stallions. They have spirit;
They are courageous and often quite cheeky.
Some men I know would benefit from somehow
Turning into one.
The clouds are not always oppressive; they’re not
If the air itself is dry and light, floating.
Gray does not have to be drear, not if a flame
Burns in every heart.
I know from my earliest days, all I’ve seen,
From every wanton deed I have witnessed, that
You are wrong! Errant! Failing! You, who taught us!
When will teachers learn?
At last, it seems that my fish-out-of-water,
Megaron, has become a comrade to them.
Ah, I should have guessed from his graceful bearing
That he could dance well.
My mind is a stew; in a sauce of silence,
There sits moments of imprudence, there beside
Days of laughter. My memories are blending;
What do I recall?
The twilight is not red, though it is often
Depicted to be so. It is lavender,
Orange, blue blended purples, and lovely pinks.
Who painted the sky?
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