St. Crispin's Day
Sirens sing their long lingering song the wails rise and fall.
Ponies run swiftly stretching to ever greater strides.
Sudden stops, quick starts, twists and turns.
The long trail shortens and compacts.
That which we pursue slows, the climax approaches.
Lightning strikes, once, twice, six times.
Flashes followed by thunder, much rushing about.
The thunder is answered, with more thunder.
An eternity, filled with flash, sound, sudden silence.
A brief pause, sounds return, vision broadens.
That which we dread most has come to pass.
There is no escaping the storm.
Thor demands his tribute.
We curse the experience as we look at the work performed.
Words unspoken but nonetheless, heard.
We have lived our Saint Crispin’s day.
CityCop
2007