The Randomness of Life Chapter 15~ for A Little Drabble Do Ya

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

half-drabbles inspired by lines from a single poem, some may be random, and some tell a story...

Prompted by: The Sorrow Of Love ~William Butler Yeats

.

Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

It was a fine soft night as Napoleon Solo sat alone on his terrace; the din of concrete and brick city below, calling to him. Something was missing...

He longed for tall green trees, growing free; and yearned for their sheltering peace with
no one hiding behind them, shooting at him.

.

And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;

Napoleon rose softly from this goddess’s  bed; it was late. He had spent the evening making love to a beautiful woman, whose name he had already forgotten.

Her’s was such a face that could launch a thousand ships. Yet they were but mere ships that passed in the night...

Sigh.
.


Could but compose man's image and his cry.

Young Illya stared at the moon in the sky, listening as the
leaves rustled their last lamentation before falling in surrender
to Father Frost and the Snow Maiden.

There would be no joy at their coming, only cold... hunger.

The child missed his family, and cried at their passing.