Battle of the Past

In the cave they sheltered from the passing storm.
Clothes wet and clinging, they were cold and worn.
The storm raged on like a wild beast after it’s prey,
It seemed as they may be there for the rest of the day.

They lit a fire near the entrance to ward away the cold,
then as the flames flickered great beauty did unfold.
For the cave walls were painted by hands long dead and gone,
It seemed to take the visitors back when a battle was won.

A victors flag still bold and bright was unfurled across the plain,
Just like the one below. A man on a bloodied horse full of pain,
Spirits painted in the clouds cried for joy or grief, they could not tell.
A reverence fell on the folks, as if someone had tolled a holy bell.

They searched the cave and found draped in a faded banner,
Bones bleached white, a rusted helm, all laid out in honour.
Could this be the man on the noble horse? Was he a mighty king?
Had they found some sacred place? Could they touch or move anything?

The storm ceased and the sun began to shine, they were free to go,
A silent voice that they all heard told them to let no one know
Of the special things they’d found. ‘Let the noble man rest there still’
They looked at the painted wall, and together they said, “We will”

Ann Margetson
July 20 1997


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