Indra Poem by R K Summers

Up on the fields of red and gold
There stood a warrior bright and bold
Had I his sword and helm in hands
Marched on armies of northern bands

Swung round the archers and fired
Pikesmen dreamt of homes they desired
They spat and groaned in murky mud
Soon to swim in their scarlet flood

What poet speaks the glory of battle
And sings the song of cold cruel metal
Rose up the banners high and proud
And blasted war drums long and loud.