Tony Bush Poet I do not know?

Time Warriors

How they toiled, from first light, 
Shrugging off the slurried sleep, 
Aching from a bed of feathers 
To cold and draining shades of night, 
Dogging the waking ritual.

For the generations gone and those to be, 
Paying dues with loss of youth, 
Sweating living blood and tears 
For their just morality 
That drove the future dreams. 

Did they expect, in labour's clutch, 
Straining spines on torture racks, 
Feeding selflessly the mouths, 
The twilight years would not mean much, 
Wasted under house arrest? 

Is all forgotten, hurled away, 
Winding down a deathly coil, 
A tedious solitude of age, 
Facing nothing but the soil 
Calling their arcane bones?

They who lived, arose before 
Twinklings in the parent eyes, 
To whom we owe our very lives, 
Not deserving something more 
Than palliative care? 

How they toiled and time would leech; 
Fell then prey to our disdain, 
Impatience and indifference 
To the lessons they could teach 
And the tales they have to tell.

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