On roads of life where thistles grow
the iron-heels of soldier’s boots
are planting crosses row by row.
When passing us the men in suits
enjoy themselves, undress our girls.
The roads of life are built on bones
and we have fed the swines our pearls.
The roads of life turn blood to stones.
Today Bill wants us to write octet poetry inspired by Bilbo’s song at dVerse poetics. When I started to write my thoughts went to the way roads and railroads once where built, and the sacrifices of the navvies. So hence my little poem. See you when the bar opens at 3 PM EST.