Arrows and a bow

Mortar crumbles,clay again,        
buildings fall and castles fail        
generations crushed and fearful        
no more trust in bricks and lime.    
        
Tents,linen now, to shade the sun        
and shroud the dead . . . . . .        
needle thread and cotton.        
Itinerant cloth to clothe the poor.    
        
Carpets, card board boxes,        
grain,flown in by aeroplanes.        
Where next week we do not know        
do not think in years.      
        
They are but dreams indulged        
by men with guns and gold.        
Great men die as great men do        
read by few . .mourned by many.    
        
Unheeded in their wisdom.        
Too late we know their worth.        
And so the mortar crumbles        
buildings fall and castles too.    
        
There will be war some day,        
somewhere some will die        
but not alone, in company,        
loneliness  not for them.    
        
Their common fate to die        
until a time shall be        
when men shall rule        
as once they did,       
 
with arrows and a bow.