The fields fill with sounds, of wars from long ago And the trees sound sad and worried as the wind blows to a frow They bend from the breth of warriors, cast off and left behind, To fight their own fight this time and be remembered in the minds The minds of a thousand cowards, that could not stand alone But stood with a group of bullies, soon to be overthrown, overthrown by heroes who when taken apart and beaten, Still have the heart and soul, for physical wounds to quickly neaten. But their minds rarely forget of their suffering and their pain, And after mounths, maybe years, they'll return to meet you again. And that's the time to give up quick, for a warriors heart is strong And you'll not be too ready to fight when you've already done much wrong Much wrong to innocent people none of who are bad, And now my friend is your time to end, and only the trees will be sad sad because one more is gone, a wicked and unloving coward, And that's when a warriors job is done, but it is no happy hour.
Reason for writing:
Brian Jacquies, and his Redwall Books.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Marion Elliot; Sagitarious.