An Echo of Trumpets

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Herald the thunder, ragged
Battle banners, set flying
Like the broken blade, jagged
Remnant in war met dying

Harbinger, bring the sorrow
with ease of grace so willing
to greet fate, on the morrow
the blade to blood, oh, spilling

Roar the tune before us, blaring
Ride for glory, whenever
the call to arms comes bearing
Be it our last endeavour




© All Rights Reserved A. F. Stewart

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Irish Lament

Bring me home, oh roaming wave
to breathe my last by the shore.
Lay blooms on my gloaming grave;
wildflowers, that I adore.

In youth I raced the ocean,
my wild heart set to wander.
Dusk shadowed my devotion,
so on death I now ponder.

Ireland waits, oh fair isle,
beyond this froth of sea foam.
Gone are days of no care, while
mortality brings me home.

© All Rights Reserved A. F. Stewart
From the book Reflections of Poetry