THIS STORY IS COPYRIGHT © 2008 BY SILVER WOLF. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DISTRIBUTION FOR COMMERCIAL GAIN, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, POSTING ON SITES OR NEWSGROUPS, DISTRIBUTION AS PARTS OR IN BOOK FORM (EITHER AS A WHOLE OR PART OF A COMPILATION) WITH OR WITHOUT A FEE, OR DISTRIBUTION ON CD, DVD, OR ANY OTHER ELECTRONIC MEDIA WITH OR WITHOUT A FEE, IS EXPRESSLY PROHIBITED WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S WRITTEN CONSENT. YOU MAY DOWNLOAD ONE (1) COPY OF THIS STORY FOR PERSONAL USE; ANY AND ALL COMMERCIAL USE EXCEPTING EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS REQUIRES THE AUTHOR'S WRITTEN CONSENT. THE AUTHOR MAY BE CONTACTED AT: Silver_Wolf@acannex.us
Their golden liveries bloodied, turning to rust,
My fallen comrades cover the forest floor,
From deep within its core to its door,
Eaten by rot and worms, blown like dust.
Their life taken away as the season finished,
They lie there, layer upon thick layer,
Gone to rest without even a prayer,
Forgotten multitude of my brothers who perished.
I hold still, awaiting for my enemy
Knowing that my own life is running away
Last survivor of that innumerable army,
Who last spring fought bravely and would not sway.
I feel the touch of an angel's wings,
Its translucent whiteness telling me it's time to rest,
And join my brothers in their grave for animals to fest,
As ermine covers them, the earth waits for the first bird to sing.