Gather round and listen close; a story to be told;
of ages past when men were men, brave and bold.
Upon their steeds they rode to champion and rule;
with swords full drawn and blood to spill so cruel.
Warrior’s cry would lead the charge into hell’s gate.
No matter what the cost; the war would not abate;
till the enemy lay defeated; left with mortal wounds.
Bodies littered on the ground; painting red the dunes.
Shields glinted in the sun; mother’s sons were taken;
a glorious victory for the King; mercy been forsaken.
Land was won at great cost; by armies on both sides;
so was the conquer worth it all; only history decides.
Brave men who served their rulers; died on that day;
what favor granted them; just a soldier’s meager pay.
The story ends like it began; rulers need new land;
never ending greed; leaves new blood in the sand.
Centuries have passed and nothing has been learned;
the ruler’s want more wealth; with mercy not concerned.
Warrior’s glide instead of ride; rifles now in their hands;
win a battle not of their choice; to conquer foreign lands.
Bold and brave they fight; shed their blood once more;
mother's weep at home; fearing knock upon the door.
Some young man or woman will lose their life this day;
what favor given them; just a soldier's meager pay.
© Copyright 2016 Ava Rosien. All rights reserved.
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