For many days
For many days the riders rode,
witnessing the passing of trees,
like pillars of ages,
which the young men flit past.
Like changing seasons,
the trees they weather,
the folly of man,
It’s living and fallen.
They leave their young and mothers of birth,
Their wives, their homes, their beds.
Sharpened swords clash in practice,
of battle soon ahead.
Horses run and toil,
Steam rising cold like dragons,
Breathe ice not fire,
Thy winters tongue remains
frozen in soldier’s mouth.
For many days the riders rode,
the clouds they sculpt the brutal path,
of misty mountains, mighty old,
and chasm’s deep and black.
The fates they gather in their ways,
to contemplate to cut the strings.
Snip one, one falls, Snip two, one falls,
their vicious game the soldiers betray.
At the brisk dawn break at morning,
the lined hilltop forms,
beneath the feet of thundering hooves
and the shaking of battle swords.
Moved by the moans of battle cries
and encouragement by the king,
the thunder charges down the hill,
and clashes with the enemy.
And so the enemy it fell
struck down by sword and spear.
Yet the damage seemed less and less,
most riders fled the scene.
Those who remained were fallen,
And taken ghost into the plains,
For many days the riders rode,
this memory, all that remains.
