The Darkest Time Poem by Chris Embrick

None dare traverse the forest deep
the place that ghosts and banshees keep
long gone the hoards of silver, gold
a barren land for those who weep
in Winter's darkness, bitter cold
where frightened widows seldom sleep

The barrels emptied drained of rum
tears are shed 'till hearts are numb
a frozen land of lochs and streams
now, famine's left behind but crumbs
the Dragon's restless forging dreams
of battles lost and battles won

The blood of peace war left behind
the spoils of greed seduced the blind
a time to mourn the birth of kings
sentenced to die before the crime
the tower bell no longer rings
to those alive the darkest time

Dreadful days for daughters, sons
fearing tomorrow will never come
hide in the dark with little sleep
silent now the battle drums
the valiant men lay dead in heaps
across the fields their corpses strewn

Now left behind the feeble, old
few sticks to stay the bitter cold
the road, the harbor, 'till Spring blocked
the castle gate secured and locked
Behind the walls the plague of pox
Behind the walls the plague of pox.