The Threshing Floor: englyn cyrch
Give an answer, if you can,
where doubts plague each fighting man
weighting healthy action down
and distracting from good plans;
where blind fear is laying waste
to fresh brick and mortar paste
shielding helpless, sick and poor,
from the pike and bonfire’s baste;
where to live alone is brave,
which makes heroes from mere knaves
who seek glory for all time
in some lines from poet slaves;
where faith falters, and belief
in war’s leaders and great chiefs
leads to slaughter fresh new lambs
who learn firsthand of despair;
where if love is found at all,
it kneels at the wailing wall
and drags on through endless hours
hoping honor breaks its fall;
’til what lives to fight once more,
taught to win despite the score,
lays its weapons down and dies,
chaff dropped on the threshing floor.
06 MAR 2017
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