Through the evening fog,
the faint flutter of a French horn
heralds an announcement from
the arc angel, Gabriel.  His
music seeps into my soul
as I await his words.  “Where 
have the prophets gone?”  he asks.
I weep.  All assassinted, left lying
in the street; their words trickled
into the trenches of the parched earth,
dying from constnt mayhem.
Hold fast to the words of your poets
lest they too should disappear.”
A brilliant star appears in the East,
a sign of prophetic truth.