Cry Lies on this Wicked Charge


What sits in this place but

a lone wandering eye?

Is it forlorn from the gold

calling pipes that rest

with Danny Boy.

What sits here but a

wilting rose and purple

lily and lotus?

Do call on the nerves

to stand upon this wicked

Bosworth and be still

with courage and honor.

Put your faith in no stars

Cry lies, upon this wicked charge.

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

%d bloggers like this: