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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Field


Finnius

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Fall and fall and rise again,

Turning 'round the twisted field,

Where dead do rise,

And I surmise,

That something wrong's been,

Done.

 

Rise up, rise, and then to fall,

Around a field of wheat and grain,

Ne'er mind the sun,

That time is done,

Don't let the mem'ry stall,

You.

 

Up again, down again,

Dead man's hand,

Or blind man's bluff,

Grain or chaff?

 

Meat or wheat?

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