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Poetry
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| General Employment. | |
| By Reynaerde | ||
| 03 October 2008 | ||
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Very close and far behind pray the coins will be kind Front, left, stand, salute see your face in my shining boot My buttoned blue shirt is bloodied from hurt My britches browned by dust and dirt Not my fault that we came to halt on this barren sand- this fringe of land We followed our prey -the man in green-grey with a painted face his mind displaced He got away No matter, for today we came across an Angel Flock ripe for picking, on the spot They've tattered wings and naked skins Legs are shackled Halos rattled I am the General We're law for barter and every captive will be profit's martyr.
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