Sorcerer Of War Poem by James Walter Orr

Oh, Sorcerer of war, how you did warp,
The gentle nature of a minstrel man.
Installed you, devilish horns in lieu of harp.
Replaced you eyes, with coals of fire that can
Burn with a glance. Now must we soon prepare
For what may be eventualities
That never shall unfold, but should they dare,
Could be that never shall be heard our pleas.
We gird us now our loins, for battle full.
We shall not fall with ease, but our blow strike,
In face of glare as diabolical
And evil as has ever crossed the pike.
Though remedies which do exist be few,
Our terrible retribution is your due.