Again of Robert Roy

Windsongs sail upon the breezes by
My mind, along the trail of Time.
They sing of trials and tribulations that
Still longer weigh their burdens nigh;
Where-unto sweet spirits fly with angels and
Fairies flitfully play together.

There I wonder, if sent asunder, would
All such memories hasten to depart…
Fled away by the euphoria of here and now,
Being how then, consumed by the moment.

It seems a pleasant thought, when brought to
Mind amid, the hustle and bustle of Today
And her wicked nest of saintly fledges,
So many open beaks begging for thee,
Sustenance of Life. Dost thou hear? For closed,
It often seems to me, thine ear.

Cast they their songs upon the wind in fear?
That feast be famine; that there be not
Regurgitated beast where yelping beaks are leased?
Wherefore else might such urgency happen?

Surely, not to speak of Love, this amber windsong
Sings. There is none shown that peaks from entrails
Strewn upon Breeze’s labor of life, but strife and
Bones and sacrifice of one, for wealth of another;
How-be-it otherwise blessed to imagine bliss in this
Carrion of sound wistfully whispering death?

But for the smile of an infant; but for the tears of a child,
But for the agony of tragedy, or despair of mended heart;
We live, and die and give and sigh away to hopeless joy…
While Faith and Fate in battle sing Again,
the ballad of Robert Roy.

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