Alchemisland

Gone now peaceful ages presided o’er by long-living sages

Whose brains were realms of patience, pasture and angel

Gone now holy truths, to all inspiring king to pirate to peasant to lyrist

No more wanted truce, protected as one’s babe, but siege protracted

Rack reassembled put into action, cracking growing backs passion knew

Now marching troop soup-made ground where they paradegroundaround

Once in quiet vales, one desirous could harken hawks sounding

Now one hears hammers hundreds, thundering into night

Fashioning terrible arms and armours, means of taking life.