StrideRider
That days may come when coarsest soldier,
Rough-handed plowman, warm-eyed wife
may scratch their small poems
into the dust or the cliff-face
with a charcoal stick
that was once an enemy mast.
Rough-handed plowman, warm-eyed wife
may scratch their small poems
into the dust or the cliff-face
with a charcoal stick
that was once an enemy mast.
If a poet stand up now,
let him be a warrior poet,
Bringing words to raise dead comrades,
Halter enemies, cajole turncoats.
let him be a warrior poet,
Bringing words to raise dead comrades,
Halter enemies, cajole turncoats.
No Season for Poets
This is no season for poets.
It is a time for warriors, doers.
When deeds are counted in sword notches.
Killers felled, hills taken, allies rescued,
Strongholds overrun.
This is no season for poets.
It is a time for warriors, doers.
When deeds are counted in sword notches.
Killers felled, hills taken, allies rescued,
Strongholds overrun.
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StrideRider's room
StrideRider has entered the building
locked
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Party Room!!!
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Under Constuction
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Coin Shoppe!!
Great Deals On Everything!!!
locked
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Secret Giveaway
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