Monday, August 4, 2014

I am too old for war

I am too old for war
but I go, anyway,
or in spite of; the war
demands all. I see
a sea of white linen
extending up hillsides
of this valley. I look
down to see what
I am wearing; the linen
is the same. My hands
are gnarled; old trees.
The linen is the same.
The sword in my hand
begins to sing. I know
the song, by heart.
I have sung it before,
when I was young,
too young for war.

Photograph by Anna Langova via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

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