The Sonnet of A Warrior Martyred [aka 'Vercingetorix']
Before
the mob, he stood, his shackles fast, His bloody head unbowed, his countenance clear. Before
the seething crowd, he showed no fear, While they, despite his fetters, stared aghast. A
tragedy cast to a moving mast. So many legions lost to get him here. Oh, Pyrrhic
victories are always dear, To flaunt in chains this warrior at last. But what
is booty when loved ones are dead!? When you will ne’er love those you loved again, No coin can soothe the heart or warm the bed, And hollow triumph does not ease the pain. For in the face of death his dignity Means martyrdom and immortality. Copright 2021 Bernard A. Quarterman, Jr.
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