The old stones of this road
have rung with iron
black-shod hoofs and drums
where I saw him walking
up from the sea, between the hills soaked red
in sunset he came, a boy among the echoes
sons and brothers all in ranks
of warrior ghosts he came to pass
where I sat on the worn final
league-stone at day’s end --
his stride spoke loud all I needed
know of him on this road of stone --
the boy walks
another soldier, another one
bright heart not yet cooled
to hard iron



Mother's Lament in Garden's of the Moon by Steven Erikson


Font: Adobe Caslon Pro


Photo: Camp of 13th New York Artillery in front of Petersburg, Va., Library of Congress.


All papers and elements from the 'Let Freedom Ring' collab @ PDW