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I am Miss Pancake Taylor. I have come from very far away to take care of my family Craig and Zita and Niamh and Emmet. Sometimes I have helpers; my friends the Blackthorn-Badgers. They are very old Scotsmen. I am very glad to meet you.

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Everywhere the serpent slain

The thunderous passage of heroic feet
Has crushed under heel
The skulls of serpents

The hills were once alive
With their slithering
But no more
For all are dead

Slain in antiquity
That we might live unmolested
Safe and sheltered
Freed of their threat

But the knife unused
Turns dull in time
And never tried
Its virtue is discarded

As fire tempers steel
So does suffering temper man
And we, untempered
Have become brittle

Thus, I foresee a day
Far off from now, yet near in time
Where from the hills again
The serpents shall descend

And there shall be naught in the way of heroes
To stand against them
To strive against them
To succeed against them

We shall become in that day
As they in our own
Our skulls
Pounded to dust

The Monster
Will be an omen
Of the hero-less age


James Frederick William Rowe

2 comments:

  1. Hey my good man, thanks for posting my poem here! I was very, very pleased to see it on such a cool blog as your own. I've plenty of new material out there. Check out Songs of Eretz, Big Pulp, Andromeda Spaceways, Tales of the Talisman (forthcoming), and Bete Noire (forthcoming) for some others. - James F.W. Rowe

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