Persians in cloth riding over the cliff
Rise from your slumber
Get out of your tent
The swords coming down and blood’s gonna spill
Death’s got your number
Horses Hell-bent
By fire and spark the Hornets take flight
Splitting their shields and piercing the night
Back at the township the blacksmith he sweats
Steam in his moustache
Hammer and tongs
Wife out the back lying cold in her bed
Scream at the stables
Hammer and tongs
By boot and by stirrup, down to the sand
Ride for Athena, her heart in your hand
Calvary mustered by General’s call
Lower you helmet
Do as you’re told
Over the top, the heathens will fall
Prisoners converted
Or murdered or sold
Comrades behind you, your chest made of brass
Die for the future, salute to the past
Brother at war a stone in his sandal
Blacksmith at work
Hammer and tongs
A glow in his eyes and a sword on the anvle
Run through the Turk
Hammer and tongs
Blood on the sawdust, sleep is betrayed.
All for the weapon, at war with the blade
We will fight
We will fight
We will fight until dawn
And when the sun comes up
The Women shall morn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is another intriguing poem I have read of yours, Ashley... I think I will have to continue reading your poems. dan