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They did not come to trade with us,
they did not come to barter,
they came, instead to slay us
whether peasant, smith or carter.
To kill us all was what they tried,
whether aged or in cribs,
by knife to throat, or sword to neck,
or with lance betwixt the ribs.
But some of us came forward -
oh, we fought for all our worth,
we flung them our defiance
while they rode us to the earth.
I just had time to bend and notch
my hunting bow, and then
let fly with shafts against these rogues
who slew both kin and friend.
But naught is left of all we had
not rick, nor cot nor tree,
just flaming homes and hovels
and one neighbor next to me,
The daughter of a villager
whose brother died before,
who had taken up his sword that hung
behind the pantry door
and gave her arm her anger's strength
and smote a vile rogue down.
And now, she stands beside me
almost a woman grown,
Who sees her time on earth draw close
who never knew aught but peace,
whose arms would never hold a beau
nor bridal gown of fleece.
She'll not know home or hearth of her
own making, or of life,
or the joys of woman's titles,
those of mother, lover, wife.
She turns to me in silence
and her eyes say all she might,
her fear, her sorrow, all her heart
but still she stands to fight.
And from my bow, my fingers fall
and touch hers in reply,
for dying in her company
is more than money's worth to buy.
So without a word between us
here in death, the bond is made,
and I stand here with my battle-bride
the old bow, the young blade,
and give the foe our justice
until Fate demands her due,
for battle is now upon us
how it ends - is up to you.
Copyright (c) 2006 by JSR
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