Sing Not to Me

Sing not to me of gloried bygone days
When all the world was good and gold and right.
There was no magic then, no sounding phrase.

Words paint the pain of memory with grays,
To dull the edges, hide them from our sight.
Sing not to me of gloried bygone days.

Tell me no tales of warriors and braves
Who conquered worlds, who wore the virgin white.
There was no magic then, no sounding phrase.

Speak instead of humble men of humble ways
Who worked the land and soundly slept the night.
Sing not to me of gloried bygone days.

The conqueror wears the blood of those he slays,
His path left desolation, ruin, blight.
There was no magic then, no sounding phrase.

Sing instead of old men and hearths ablaze,
of peaceful earth and children’s eyes alight.
Sing not to me of gloried bygone days,
There was no magic then, no sounding phrase.

Poem form: Villanelle

 

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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