Masters of the Sun

Masters of the Sun

Stand fast young Apollos!
Masters of the sun,
The flaxen-haired few on steely steeds,
Who seek the rising hun.

Upon these weathered plains.
A weathered dust doth blow,
And whips up an age-old song,
Of death on weathered stone.

And scourged are aged eyes and minds
By stories of ages past,
Where spilt and torn on rusty fields,
Bloody bodies an empire cast.

So stand fast m’boys, stand fast;
When the time comes,
When shadows taunt,
And sweat runs on.

Yours indeed will be the sky,
And all the innocent air,
You young Apollos,
Masters of the sun.


Copyright 2014: Antony Raine


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