Lost City (Verse I)

The spring rain plummets on the broken glass

Half tarnished mirror lighting up the stains

Empty envelopes doth the cool wind pass

Few fading words foretell a return fain

Dark residue of distant raging fire

A gallant tale retold in hero’s voice

But broken tune is all strung by thy lyre

As history determines my last choice

The ancient pathway dotted by fresh fern

Upon the old bequest of fallen knights

How many promises do I must spurn 

Can I from the same lasting guilt take flight.

The clashes gone, the soldiers’ distant care

I walk through the abandoned city bare.