The Fall Of Man Poem by Tia Attwood

Upon a checked landscape proudly stand
The king; his nights with horse and sward, they stance
are ready to invade the foreign land
Whilst sillhoette in pweter, sternly prance.

The echoes of the past is heard in May
as life becomes to pass before ones face,
in hope to end the war on this fine day
as war depopulates the human race.

Yet, Summer's rouge upon ones cheek now fades
and thunder is the trumpet too our wake
as sauce is smeared upon the bodies laid
and Winter claims its prize as all to take.

As ev'ry man in time is sure to fall
The Winter is the victor of us all.