Finis Coronat Opus

Glist’ning sunlight dances gay O’er the rolling azure waves As they lap against the shore, Calling trav’lers to explore; What within their depths do lie, Hidden deep from searching eyes, ‘Neath the weight of torrents vast Holding myst’ries ever fast? What great ships, now ruined, rest Upon the sandy floor, with chests Of golden treasure, precious gems, And crewmen that were lost with them? What caverns, great, and dark, and deep, Wind beneath, where Kraken sleeps, And ancient dragons, steely clad, Would thence come forth, and drive men mad? Such things a sailor would not know, As on the glitt’ring tide he rows, And marks his way by sun and star To reach a land beyond him far.

Deep in forest far away There stands an ancient tree, Where, in time past, the trav’lers lay Shaded from the heat. At night, they fires built from the boughs They cut, and rested deep, A sleep unbroken, quiet, sound, As trees the watch did keep. Now years have passed, and forest old Has dwindled small; but still The ancient tree that mem’ries holds Stands, marked by history’s quill. See, here, the marks of axe and saw, And there, the scars of fire? Long may this edifice stand tall And stories great inspire.

Broken shards of palest clay Lie beneath the sun’s fair ray, By a window, where once stood The pieces, as a statue should, Fair and tall, a work so grand; Alas, now broken in the sand. But not long shall they so lie Beneath the garden’s open sky; Gathered, laid so gently, then Slowly built back up again, Veins of gold where cracks would be, Pain transformed to new beauty. So, in time, when work is done, And statue sits again in sun, Brighter gleams the clay so fine As the gilded veins do shine; Where once were edges broken, sharp, Now is treasure, beauty, art.

In the misty dark so dreary, ‘Round a fire, with faces weary, Sits a comp’ny bearing wounds and bruises of a battle sore; Through the day they fought with honor ‘Neath the gleaming royal banner, Signifying greatness ancient that had dwindled through the years; Now, alas, ‘round fading embers Rest the few remaining men ‘Ere the fight begin again. “Courage, lads!” calls forth the chieftain, “Yesterday, aye, we were beaten; But the battlefield shall take no more our precious heritage. Forth we go, upon the morrow, Taunting death, and facing sorrow, That in years to come, our children might these tales of glory sing. Though we fall, we fall with purpose, For a hope yet to be born”, Says the captain, ‘ere the morn. As the sun arose upon them, Set like flint against the foe, then Fought they fierce as soldier bold had never fought a fight before; Beating back the killers savage, Ending swift the hostile rampage, Many fell upon the field to never see their children more. Yet, their triumph, w...

Lantern burns into the night Casting forth its golden light O’er the pages lying still, As the author wields his quill, Writing of what passed before, Ancient, near-forgotten lore: Deeds of might and grandeur done ‘Neath the passing of the sun, Wars long waged, and battles great, Kingdoms strong, and empires’ fate; All, such things of legends told, Mem’ry past, and histories old. Yet, how shall the stories burn, And stir young hearts, with zeal that yearn, If in the past they rust and fade Within the tombs where great men lay? So, ‘neath the glow of lantern light, The author writes the tales aright.

Through corridors of ages past, As streams of Time flow, rushing fast, While many words and tales of yore Are carried onward, into lore; Yet words of heralds long ago, And tales of valor often told, Lie lonely, when without their tune Or melody they are imbued. Words that stirred a thousand hearts, As toward the battlefield souls marched, Lose feet, and limbs, when from them part The ancient lays that made them art.

‘Neath an arid, greying sky, Where the hills with heather lie, North of warm and sunny lands Flourishing ‘neath gard’ners’ hands; Where the stag and boar roam free Next to icy mountain stream, And the copse of gorse and fir Hide the birds that in them stir; Wild men there traverse the land, Strong of back and firm of hand; Snowfall, wind, or weather dark, Turns them not from winding march. Guard they still the lands beyond Ancient bounds and mighty wall; None have tamed their fiery hearts, Burning long with freedom sought.