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A Dying Tale : 03

I taste some saltiness in the air

Where laughter had once rung so fair.

They taste of bitterness and distraught

Of the fighters that, for once, had fought.

They shed blood for tears

As they struggled through their fears.

Wanderers, they had been

In search of light so pristine.

Long, they walked and walked

Far as it is, they never balked.

All they've shed, it never left

It couldn't be taken, even by theft.

Whatever was left, stayed;

Where they tread, it laid.

I taste their fears and their sorrows,

And their hope for a better tomorrow.

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