The old ones knew that black was hate,
White garment purity and red one sin;
They spoke the language of the trees
And opened veins to let love in.
These old ones, feeling life was brief
And brittle as the fire-baked shard,
Could find no seat for sentiment,
So mended weakness with a sword.
In them the heart was made of gold,
But mind was forged of steel so sharp
That hand which plucked the harp could shape
From father's skull a drinking cup.
The old ones' fashion we have lost,
Whose red is passion, white deceit;
In casting devil from the flesh,
Who perish with the bread we eat.
The Old Ones
Henry Treece
(1)
Poem topics: father, fire, hate, heart, life, lost, passion, steel, mind, sharp, fashion, gold, bread, purity, language, devil, shape, black, skull, sword, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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