This maimed antique still holds In vibrant melodies Full many a dream. Its face is marred And splotched with ink. Black scratches ream Where some too fervid pen Once drummed out rhythms On the ways of men: An ode to sacrifice, A song for toil, A chant for war, A lay for common good; The balladry of swains, The sonnetry of kings, A threnody ... A psalm of peace! This maimed antique still holds The visioning of youth— Embellished and embossed By time and scars and truth. |