I’ve been on the run for weeks
Heading towards the Great Wall
From atop this steep hill
My nose tells me, I’m close
And I smell that distinctive sage aroma
Knowing, the sage bush is nearby
At the gateway to guard tower twelve
My old bones shake and shiver
The Mongolians are closing quickly
Spears and arrows aquiver
Fear grips me, and I crawl low
Fingers grasping the granite, block after block
Frightened, I’m too scared to fall
Onto the cold sharp rocks below
I clamber higher, step after step
Finally, there above me
The flowering sage bush
Mauve blooms bowing in the breeze
My chest sighs and heaves
I clear my lungs, and scream
Soon I’ll be free, as I see
Beyond the sage bush at guard tower twelve
The Emperor’s warriors, my reprieve
Saved, I fill the Royal message bag with sage leaves

Ivor Steven (c) 2018





















