How they lost the war
Sworded and plated,
With impatience he waited.
Waiting to free the blood.
They came up the hill,
Screaming and shrill,
At the very crest, he stood.
Arrows filled the sky,
Rained on shields raised high,
As soldiers slipped in the mud.
Bodies fell to the floor,
Mostly farmers, the poor.
They took their toll, as they could.
Finally he swings,
The flamberge, it sings,
As it splits a skull in two.
The defenders might flee,
All this, he can see,
As he slays more than a few.
With joy in his heart,
He cleaves them apart,
His path is clear and true.
He surges on down,
No friend is around,
But this is nothing new.
His armour is strong,
His flamberge is long,
And the bodies, around him, pile high.
He fearlessly kills,
Enemies blood, he spills,
Whilst shouting a threatening cry.
The enemy cower,
They can feel his power,
And all around him they die.
Try as they might,
They cant win this fight,
But 'lo, what is that in the sky?
A wooden missile,
Shot by Sir Kyle,
Makes its way through the air.
Sir Kyle is his friend,
And tries to amend,
For the last catastropic affair.
But alas, yet again,
He has hit his best friend,
The flamberger, he is no more.
And so ends the tale,
Of the ultimate fail,
And of how they lost the war.
