Now Is The Autumn Of Our Depression

Now is the autumn of our depression,
Made glorious spring by the new buds of sadness,
And the grey veil that hung upon our house,
Is swathed once more in the rains wet embrace,
Now our old arguments are seized upon,
Our veteran jibes unlocked from deep chests,
Our fair meetings turned to untrustful partings,
Our recreational pleasures to stern devices,

Now is the peak of this shared discontent,
Made and worsened by the leaving of our fathers,
And the heavy shadow that hung upon our house,
Is stained red once more by the flow of loyalty,
Now our leaden weapons weigh our deadened hands,
Our antique armours obstructing our movements,
Our untrusting partings turned to violent meetings,
Our stern devices used in little regret,

Now is the finality of this faithless war,
Made fabulous truce by this fallen heart,
And the battle-flags that hang upon our house,
Are held steady in our mailed fists,
Now our blunted cleavers are held loose in hand,
Our scratched plate holed and broken,
Our violent meetings turned to respectful partings,
Our little regrets turned to ultimate sorrow

Author's Note

Inspiration from Mr Shakespeare. All credit to Richared III