a pyrrhic tale

 

we reach the boundary and cannot cross
so much of what we need is left behind
we paid for victory with greater loss

those are the symbols which we have to toss
into the bin and cast them from each mind
we reach the boundary and cannot cross

into the pleasant meadows there’s no gloss
to this clear meaning life is never kind
we paid for victory with greater loss

than we expected we received the dross
instead of gold and that is the true bind
we reach the boundary and cannot cross

the one who lost might now become the boss
in the hot quandary through which we find
we paid for victory with greater loss

the dry-stone wall turns green now with the moss
of centuries forgotten by the blind
we reach the boundary and cannot cross
we paid for victory with greater loss

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