Flares

Flares

 

O, fair river, where does thee flow?

 

Does thee flow,

To the lands of the North,

Where the Northerners lie,

Awaiting in ambush?

 

Or does thee choose to flow,

To the valleys of the South,

Where the Southerners stand,

Sharpening their weapons?

 

Or has thee decided t follow the route,

Of the Eastern paths,

Where the Easterners crawl,

Loading their foolish confidence?

 

Or has thee wanted to go,

To the Western hills,

Where the Westerners wake,

Glaring at the red, hot sun?

 

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