cenotaph

the sun always shines on this day
bathing now empty echoing streets
they breathe silently
ready to receive dark memories
from trench and desolate field

white lions of inglorious empires
look down at Portland faced mansions
witness to bearskin and boot
their coated ranks rooted in solemn lines
faces to the empty tomb
waiting for the million dead to come
then raise brass and drum
to whisper Nimrod
and sooth their tortured souls.

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