Holy Rus (Centuries' Old Phobia) Poem by james watkin
Holy Rus (Centuries' Old Phobia)
Like night upon its features
Looms up to frighten us
Each tree, in a bear's region;
Cruel plots in Holy Rus.
Empire of snows. Hut on hut
What despairs, for a veneer
Of civilization. An idea
As long held in its fear
The land's own, white, pure, shining.
That of it,but gives rise
To prayer's mighty warriors.
We'd have march otherwise!
Saturday, April 13, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: history
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8/18/2025 10:38:42 AM # 1.0.0
