The end of the siege
Not the still-standing walls,
black and torn against the smoke-smudged hills;
nor exhausted men, most sleeping now with swords to hand
and helmets dark and dented –
none of these had failed him yet.
But when the cook left quietly before dawn,
the captain heard the postern squeak,
and knew it was over.
———-
For Catherine, with much poetic license (and hoping any similarities between medieval warfare and modern business are mere fantasy!).
Posted on dVerse.
poetry diary 