“At the setting of the Sun”
Beneath the glistening,
Ink black night,
ill-lit by faded stars,
in the shadow of the sickle Moon
the desert stretches
unto heaven.
A tattered remnant flutters,
stirred by ghostly hands,
the faded red, white and blue
stained with soot and blood
shroud for a rocky Tor.
The Angels are long-gone,
the seals beyond repair
silence reigns here,
in the shadow of Leviathans
they lay,
lost in the corner of some foreign field.
At the setting of the Sun,
at the dawning of the day
in heat and dust,
in an ocean of sand
we will never forget.