April 9, 2011
-
Burned
The fields are charred
And the barn is all ash
The wind sweeps the smoke
And Whistle right past.
Stunned and alone
He sits and he stares
But under the ash
Was a Home full of tares
The children despised it
The land was a joke
The business was rotten
The plague London broke
A judgment of jealousy-
Or mercy and grace?
The flames running deep.
Fiddling psychotic -
The lights in his eyes
The Torches of kings
Nero danced in delight-
Yet who held the power,
Those nights of long knives?
