an old writer and his words

Once it was fur hatsmen on horsebackswords and torchesour villages casting a faint glowfalling into dying embers,here, one whose skullbears the mark of the hoof,there an old onewho would go no farther. Once it was a helmettanks for horsesflames contained in crematoriacities taken for the deservingwe, merely ashesshoveled into a pit,here a tooth, its goldtorn…