Brook Of Sanguinetto,

NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE.


We win, where least we care to strive;
And where the most we strive—we miss.
Old Hannibal, if now alive,
Might sadly testify to this.
He lost the Rome, for which he came;
And—what he never had in petto—
Won for this little brook a name—
Its mournful name of Sanguinetto.

by John Kenyon

Comments (17)

A fleeting thought, perhaps, but the one that most definitely lingers....less is more and every single word here counts. Lovely Chuck...
Days move in ages, and time in moments; sparrows live many days, but a song is gone in a moment of wonder. BEAUTIFUL poem Chuck.
This little gem is brief, but rich and enduring.
Your touch is as light as a feather here...well done.
Aren't we all just little sparrows and now with technology so cheap, we all, on 'Twitter' tweet, tweet, tweet..... but for this little sparrow, please, write more poems such as these; -) Ruthy (alias 'Little Sparrow' come read mine...please) : -) (oh gosh, I do hope you've heard of 'Twitter' it's this new internet site you see, where people write down their thoughts...otherwise you might think I'm completely out of my tree, heh heh)
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