In days gone by
I would use my quill
To fill parchment
With tales of heroes.
I made them tall
And brave,
I gave them shining armour,
Swords of elvish steel,
These were real heroes.
They fought dragons,
Rescued fair maids,
Righted wrongs,
The oppressed sang songs
Of their deeds.
But times have changed,
The world is rearranged,
There is no longer
Room for heroes.
You cannot ride a white charger
Down Wall St.
Armour will give no protection
Against the Procters,
Or the Gambles,
And elvish steel
Will feel as paper
Against commercial might.
But in these twilight years
Of mine,
I still feel rage,
And while I have the strength
To fill a page,
I will.
Maybe there are still heroes,
Out there
Somewhere.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
