Six cities down lies ruined Troy,
sacked by the princes from the sea--
the men long dead, the women gone,
towers and walls all tumbled down
to the rubbled shards of history.
Those walls where Helen walked, her face
framed by the backward flaring sun,
and where great Hector as a boy
sat, thin elbow on his knee,
dreaming of mighty deeds to come.
And she of the dark, far-piercing eye
stood, cursed with the gift of prophecy,
watching the golden cities burn--
Trojan and Greek--the flaming ruins
of all great cities yet to be.
Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie