Period Italian Sonnet

Roses of War

In line I stand upon a windless hill,
More silent than the grave I watch and wait.
Unknowing soldiers march to take the bait.
My arrow nocked with bow drawn back until
Then comes the signal high and loud and shrill!
My arrow flies to meet it’s destined fate,
The soldiers turn to flee but much too late;
The rain of arrows cease when all is still.

I see the bodies lying down below.
The smell of blood and carnage fills my nose,
And I accept my part in what’s to be.
For victory only holds a single rose,
And face the truth my heart would have me know.
The enemy I killed this day is me.

Isabella Poliziana (05/31/07)