The narrow path I walk is covered in green
My ghost is standing still unseen
Take not my heart from the glen
I will fight for it until the bitter end
The cannon blast is ringing the bell
Body is cold upon the merchant’s shell
Five or more they scale the hanging vine
Boulders rumble down making them mine
Blood upon the water lives to see
A curse of words float down condemning me
I stand my ground fames shoot high
What is death at least one hundred cry
Valley of the damned in smoke
Last of oak trees in the meadow choke
Smell of life a flickering flame
Nobody recalls which or who is to blame
The narrow path is now a memory
Carcasses left scared in a new cemetery
Strong and tall grows the oak tree
White cross is all that’s left of me
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Reviews of "Last Of Me"
Reviewed by Floria Kelderhouse (Reader)
Reviewed on January 23, 2004
There will be much more left of you than that Walter...your poetry..all the good you've done which I am sure you have...we leave bits of us behind when we go...so it's important to make everyday count for something...this was sad...blessings to you...floria
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Hope you okay buddy!!
Love Tinka