LIKE OLIVER
I am old and gray, with long silver hair;
I am like Oliver, standing on a field - amassed
before me are the horsemen of another tribe, another
era. All the marksmen and fighters are at the ready.
-
The long, green wallow of a rolling field runs out;
a few trees and but a river of shade. The horses
nose their paws, slowly, idly, standing by.
-
My allegiances, they grow backwards - to what I
am given, to what's become mine. In the half-dark,
there remains nothing needing an explanation.
Men are lined up, waiting instructions. How
many shall die today, no one knows.
-
Another page, another book, we turn.
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