The Last Season

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The Last Season

“He made hay
Day by day
Till the grave called to duty serve”

In memoriam
Of the dead seasons of indelible laughter
In loving memory
Of the memories of the seasons

Seasons O! Seasons O! Seasons
Cease not to come
The laughter you held with pride is slaughtered
At the altar of coward herds men

In memoriam
Of the dead seasons of brave men
Lived as demigods
In sorrowful memory of the colony of wise men

The last season
Hold on tight to the tithe
You faithful dressed in white
Wrong is right if right is wrong
Seasons of sowing comes
But Before
The season of harvest

In memoriam o seasons
Last season
You owe us no reason
For malnourished impoverished peasant farmers
To commit treason

To the carvings of the shrine where you shine
To the corners of the mosque where you learn
To the pulpits of the church where you believe
This is the last of all seasons

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