When
I dream of ancient lands
I
think of wide and endless sands
The
waves are crashing on the shore,
Telling
you forgotten lore.
Their
weeping whispers echo there
As your blurred reflection in a mere.
Shall
I listen or neglect
All
the sorrows and regrets?
A
shipwrecked trireme's shell
lies
shattered there just to retell.
I
keep on dreaming of those times
And
picture forms and shapes of mine.
I
am a soldier born in Greece,
Watching
olive trees moved by the breeze.
I
saw Carthage's glory rise and fall
As
my commander knocked on Rome's thick wall.
I
wandered through the bamboo woods
Impressed
by Shaanxi's
noble goods.
Men
and horses made of clay
Standing
there and shut the way.
So
I dream and live until I'm dead
And
hope that this just once was read
To
leave my footprints in this sand.
A
path so quaint and also grand
A poet has to write it down
As
no one impairs their great renown.
And
may the eagles sing our song
And
why don't you all sing along.
Sing
a lay for all that's past;
Dead
poets should forever last.
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