by Nick Gisburne
Upon the plains of sacrifice and bone
The salt, the sprays of waves of war, is spread
A curse upon the giants, overthrown
Forgotten monsters, sleeping, silent, dead
The Sisters of Starvation scratch for food
For scraps, for morsels, fragments in the sands
Returning to their church, an eager brood
Is fed by old, degenerative hands
A thousand years of desiccated flesh
Will satisfy their appetites no more
No undiscovered specimen, still fresh
Is hidden in the salt through which they pore
The wars were over, centuries ago
But death for their descendants will be slow
