Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
Ode to the Fort by the SeaHere in the lull of centuries removed
From those whom you were built to keep at bay,
You stand, crippled reminder, by the rocks,
Which waves still loudly crash upon each day.
If crumbling walls could speak, they'd surely tell,
Of men who served, and entered through your doors.
Did they eat, and drink, and laugh within the walls?
And which ones spilled their blood upon your floors?
Now those who enter call you merely quaint;
And hippies decorate with cans of paint.
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