I read your letters bound in box last night,
and charted empire’s rise and swift decline;
the first with purple ink and blinkered sight,
declaring all your futures to be mine.
So full of news, and views, and words of love,
with heady scent of lavender and rose,
our flag of love flew high in blue above,
in winds of poetry and deathless prose.
But how at last we weakened in the van,
as frontiers buckled, shattered, fell;
the horde of doubt grew strong, and over-ran
Abandoned heart, left empty lifeless shell.
These war dispatches, written long ago, grown cold:
where is that soldier now, once passionate and bold?