Fragments From My Memory

 

It was a jaded life, not serpentine, in which they whiled a way the hours.

As help not looked for, in strange guise, bespoke of soaring towers.

Of Ivory and gilded frame they were reaching for the stars,

as rescuers from a forgotten age stood bold upon their spars.

 

What fragments from my memory, of a much more lovely time,

leapt quickly at the chance to sing and chant iambic rhyme?

For out of the dark and ash filled sky a star ship came at least.

To take the children of the sun, and grant them their repast.

 

They took the cup and ate the bread,

and sang many songs of praise.

Then flew off into the heavens,

leaving behind the ashen haze.