Come listen now to tales once told,
With heroes' blood and bodies cold.
O listen and take heed...

The sun sets low upon the fields,
A wounded man but mortal yields,
O whence his soldiers lead?

"Graft now the reeds unto my limbs,
And sing your loud and mourning hymns.
The ravens soon will feed."

So he commanded them to die,
His dying stand their final lie,
And on that field they bleed.

The sun took on its royal due,
a cape of red and gold and blue.
The light will soon recede..

With him they stood at edge of wood,
A corpse commander's last deed good.
And riderless, his steed.

The light had fallen on the hills,
The night was fraught with deadly chills,
The soldiers drew their mead.

"Come now my brethren!" his voice roared,
"Take helm and plate and mount and sword!
"Tonight we show our creed!"

And standing there by strength of limb,
The soldiers charged and honoured him,
In blood and sweat and deed.

And so...

The rise of sun upon the fields,
A noble leader to death yields,
Held up by brace of reed.

The men gather round to this day,
To mourn a man who gave away,


His burial... for their need.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Ultio, in the year 598 AD.