Illyria
06-16-2004, 07:47 PM
Right, this is the fourth and final part of my 'epic' 'masterpiece' so I want comments! I don't care if you hated it, just tell me what you honetly thought and what is good/bad with the whole series of writings.
Echoes
Green crops are raised
From seeds long since sown,
While across rolling plains
A soft wind has blown.
It whistles, like children
Gleefully dancing past,
Of freedom bought dearly
And etched but in glass.
A price ne’er forgotten,
A cost none could lend,
A price for such wonder
As slavery’s end.
And the farmers,
The workers, the downtrodden folk,
Shall always remember
The day that it broke.
Though strong glass may shatter,
Crops turn to dust,
Children grow older
As we all must,
Schemes of time
And innocent rain,
Wash away all,
But still remains,
Echoes.
Echoes
Green crops are raised
From seeds long since sown,
While across rolling plains
A soft wind has blown.
It whistles, like children
Gleefully dancing past,
Of freedom bought dearly
And etched but in glass.
A price ne’er forgotten,
A cost none could lend,
A price for such wonder
As slavery’s end.
And the farmers,
The workers, the downtrodden folk,
Shall always remember
The day that it broke.
Though strong glass may shatter,
Crops turn to dust,
Children grow older
As we all must,
Schemes of time
And innocent rain,
Wash away all,
But still remains,
Echoes.