The King Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The rider could be heard
now, from afar,
foam flew off the horse's mouth
and puddles formed beneath
as he demounted now.
A scroll to give,
with urgency the King,
the news is bad, my Lord,
all troups have fallen
and their blood has stained
the earth, like Flanders' Fields.
A few have fled,
their horses ruined
and weapons strewn about,
the enemy has won,
what will your Majesty decide,
must bloodshed cease
and man come to his rightful end?

I stand before you here,
I,
who has prevailed
through countless wars,
and skirmishes abroad,
our blood has drained
and must remain
within the soil
to fertilise,
to help grow new and better men,
but we must go,
I shall not ask you
none of you
to die with me,
but you may be
of noble mind
to witness as I plunge this dagger
into my heart.
Let there be peace,
and may my shame be laid to rest
with me.