Bello Variano

I sat to watch the sky grow dim,
upon a land where once the pride
of a thousand armies died
for what, ‘cept hubris held of him
who was as son but not of seed
yet took the crown from greater heads
that too did dream on final beds
great father Caesar to succeed;
and formed from clouds the ghostly trees,
o’er the fields where once they stood
now rich in life from scattered blood
dried slow across the centuries,
shed phantoms in the sweetest rain
to haunt this eve’s halcyon plain.