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Mine Fair Love �tis Gone |
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Mine fair love fallen, hast from mine side gone.
Oh sing thee now, thy sad and mournful song.
Grieve ye now, sad and mournful, for love so true
Passed on now into war's grave blackened hue.
Oh sing thee now of tragic wrong
Oh sing of greater love for forever I'll long.
Hear thee the depth of mine saddened soul ring
A funeral dirge, to mine loves sweetest death sing.
Sing to lost love, fallen far, far away,
For whose tempest tossed soul, I can but now pray
Cursing now, that most dreadful beast
That ogre mine love rode to this killing feast.
Duty left him moldering under alien ground
Now silent in peace, soft, nary a sound.
Oh where again can I wearily start
Born death of hope, of very heart
For mine love �tis gone, mine life
Lost he for whom I sang life's sweetest songs rife.
We planned the rest of our lives in love's grand wealth
Before war came stealing with calculating stealth
Before fated death
Sprouted its carnally, evil breath
Killing the source from whence very life doth spring
Morbid despair forever to bring.
War bears naught but cold-hearted fruits of death
Sprouting fire and tempests carnally, evil breath
O'er love lost far beyond where setting sun gathers
Upon a nation's lovers, brothers, sons, fathers
Killing the source from whence very life doth spring
Morbid despair forever and a day to bring.
Now mine sweet love fallen, forever from mine side gone.
Oh sing thee now, thy sad and mournful song.
Having destroyed asunder what might have been...
Should have been...
If it had not been...
For the inhumanity of men to men. |
By
Gary Jacobson
Copyright 2003
Listed
August 28, 2010 |
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About
Author...
In 1966-67, Gary Jacobson served with B Co
2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry in Vietnam as a combat
infantryman and is the recipient of the Purple
Heart.
Gary, who resides in Idaho writes stories he
hopes are never forgotten, perhaps compelled by
a Vietnamese legend that says, "All poets are
full of silver threads that rise inside them as
the moon grows large." So Gary says he
writes because "It is that these silver
threads are words poking at me � I must let them
out. I must! I write for my brothers who cannot
bear to talk of what they've seen and to educate
those who haven't the foggiest idea about the
effect that the horrors of war have on
boys-next-door."
Visit Gary Jacobson's site for more information
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