From on the hill, the old man watched the wicked work
The dark was coming; the night had killed the sun
The burning fires blotted out the uninterested stars
Animals sang in fear at the cracking of the gun.
The Forbidden City was over-run by enemy soldiers
Promising peace by day and digging deep at night
One had worked his way beneath the walls therein
Opened the gate for his friends in the last of the light.
The fat king was carried from his perfumed chamber
A rope around his neck toward the nearest standing tree
Where his loyal fools hung with lifeless watching eyes
As the gold-laden soldiers cheered with no sympathy.
For a while, the old man on the hill watched the madness
Then shaking his old bones free of dust moved on
His dark robes kept the obese moon from off his scythe
With no footprints in the ashen sand where silver light had shone.