Tuesday, October 4, 2011

3275. THE DOGS OF WAR

THE DOGS OF WAR
When sometimes the dogs of war
are snarling, and rabid, tug their
leashes, then the foiling sun with
great reluctance deems it best
to set. All things darken by degree,
and shades and shadows redefine
the lines and shapes of all we see -
how fraught with trepidation,
new, all things are.
-
Might I, then, say this backwards?
Recite some ode of Horace in reverse,
faulting ends and enemies, turning
'round the battles and the fight?
No, I seek the straighter line,
where things, still in rows, hold
tight to all their marks and meanings.

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