Sun streams down from the blue bowl
On bracken and broken glass.
Older than age rise ramparts
that mutely hold memories.
Here lived those fierce, warlike men
that ruled with sword the soft plains
That hugged the sheltering sea.
From their windy battlements
No foe could creep in cunning
stealth to catch the fertile kine
Or unload the golden grain
into heathen hands and mouths.
As watchful eagles stood those
Lords with sword and axe upraised,
Ready to fight and die for
the folk who farmed below.
Now their walls are grass and dust.
Where trod the mailed feet of men
Dully graze the silent sheep
on grass sprung from heroes’ blood,
And deeds that faintly call from
pale shadows, soon forgotten