Charlie's+Paper

Charlie Garbutt 10/21/2013 American Literature The Valor That Lives On  And down the field we rode, away from the steeple, Cognoscente farms, taken from the people, Caught sight of the arrow did the neck of the man, And with his death, the war had began, The cavalry’s collision taken by head of the wall, Yet there was no way it could stop them all, For there are no rivers in the Arid Badlands, And no cease, or folly from where the war stands, To whom lay the responsibility to tell the boy, Whose father lay rest with the hoi polloi, I am no saint, no harbinger of justice, And in no position to stop the Augustus, <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 13pt;">I rise from my chair, peering outside, <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 13pt;">My eyesight was met, where worlds collide, <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 13pt;">For I am no saint for the people forlorn, <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 13pt;">Or the war where the lives of the people were sworn.