When I ran wild in the wood,
In the dark season,
The trees stood bare
The streams ran hard
Life was deep buried
And they said that I was mad.
Words struck through me like lightning.
Listen, my king, my piglet, my apple-tree,
What is the purpose of this war?
Why are we flinging ourselves into foreign quagmire
Head-down heedless, like a knight at a ford,
Spending lives, treasure, and reputation
When all we do makes matters worse
And nobody has asked for our intercession?
Listen here, old oak trees,
A few brown leaves rattling
Against the gales of autumn,
You have seen battles, hidden kings,
You remember the last war,
Young men falling like leaves.
You don't need my prophecies.
Yes, I led the king to the stone,
What did you want, anarchy?
We elected him by acclamation.
Yes, I had him taught to fight,
Did you want your king to be a weakling?
Yes, I have a measure of foresight,
But they're dying for nothing and nobody will listen!
I am a crow. I am Cassandra.
Anyone with eyes can see that this is wrong.
I will run cawing through the winter wood,
Rend my soft skin, scratch in the loam,
Rub ashes on my ancient head,
Hold urgent orgies of refutation
In ardent denial of responsibility.
Comment statistics for Aled Morgan on the Making Light blog
The most recent 20 comments posted to Making Light by Aled Morgan:
Show all comments by Aled Morgan.