| I dreamt, in old age, Of Alexandrian days, The glory of Rome; The spice trade, Silken wares, the way To China; we trudged back, Our beaten men, Long nights and many days And came at last to Byzantium. There, We slaughtered many, and in turn, Many men, our brave men, fell; We fell – The dust, the dying day, I recall A ruined city, Judean hills, Scraps of golden days; We bathed In jewel-studded nights, The nightly trail of caravans, The swell Of Arabian sea. |
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this poem are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This poem is copyright (c) 2011 Mark Thomas Prisco. All rights reserved.
The End.