THE BATTLE:

The cold oaks dance in the winds where old dragons prance,

The Knight upon his steed, saddled in his battle-ready stance,

The Black Mountains toss shadows upon the old Brecon Beacons,

While prayers in grey chapels are prayed by priests & old deacons.

Ravens cried, winds sighed & old maids to all small children lied,

The hag on her spindle spun faster, as the night lay down & died,

The jangling jester tossed his batons for the old regal & wily king,

And all about the grey-stoned courtyard, the crows began to sing.

And in the town, the town-crier cried, “Come hear ye one & all”,

Do not deem to venture outside, beyond these stony castle walls,

There are soldiers now approaching, many upon their steady steeds,

Bent & very willing, to commit their villainous & very heinous deeds.

Many men they are a galloping, towards their firing, pillage & rape,

Hide your women & children; lock up your hounds, grain & grape,

Bring in your beasts from foraging & put them into locked barns,

It is the truth I am telling you & not just lost hot air & spun yarns.

Clink of chainmail, creaking of leather, all men please be prepared,

Be off on your horses now, your babes & women folk be very scared,

Your duty to defend King & country, to protect the castle of your kin,

With blood, sweat & your glinting swords, is the only way you´ll win.

The battle fought, the tears shed & blood spilt, the honour is fairly won,

And peace reigns upon your land again, where once the sun had shone,

There shall be laughter in the streets & your children shall out to play,

And to sweet music the cows will graze, while the ass shall gently bray.