Ancient rhyme comes down through time,
in a voice that's still sharp and clear.
A story told of events so bold,
repeated year to year.
Of gods so mighty and people so weak,
that they know not of what they speak.
And tales of yarns so legend.
With songs so silk of sage.
Proclaiming the prophecy of a right,
brought on by the prospect of rage.
For gods are always vengeful and wrath,
trying to keep their lambs on path.
As if the course of their construction,
is leading to a sure destruction.
Of all that is beauty and truth,
breathed by the song sayers of sooth.
It's time to relax and face the facts,
that ancient rhyme is of another time.
Enjoy it for its beauty and worth,
rivers of thought so sweet and sublime.
And though I walk through the valley,
I will be fine.
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2007 © Ronald W. Hull