“Let me do just one glorious deed...

On battlefieid
He stayed behind
When fighting’s done
When blood had run

Of him there’ll be
No glory sung
N0 stories told
N0 claims so bold

In a wagon he rode
The trail to war
No marching done
Not this son

He cannot march
The march to war
It is his shame
For he is lame

He hears the cry
The fighter’s call
He cannot go
He cannot know

But in his mind
He feels the heat
Of battle’s fire
Deeds inspire

He sat and listened
While tales were told
While they cheered
Felt no fear

Behind the battle
There he stood
He watched them die
He watched them lie

He could not help
He could not fight
He wouldn’t dare
Such despair

He saw the banner
Of the King
Going down
Going down

And crept he did
With twisted limb
Across the field
Unrevealed

Tattered creeper
No one sees
Through bodies red
Among the dead

And reached the side
Of injured King
Of failen knights
N0 armor bright

And took he hold
Of banner staff
To heave it high
Though he might die

So those afield
Would see and hope
Courage willed
Hope instilled

Rallied round
The fighters did
Died and fought
Great deeds wrought

But With this turn
They won the day
Changed the story
Took the glory

And so he lay
Beneath the slain
Twisted heap
In final sleep

Name unknown
Through his one deed
Was not denied
To die with pride

A depressing poem

by Mistress Lorelei Greenleafe
”