Not for kings or countrymen,

Neither wings nor coat of arms;

Not for riches of new worlds,

But sways to suitor’s charms.

Fields red as days before,

Your boots still stained in blood.

And tread upon the earth so suave,

We knew not where we stood.

Left for dead

I found you here,

Among the apathy.

Your heart does beat,

So softly still,

But stand you can’t; I see.

The ground will drink; will take you down,

For slimy southern sixes feasts.

But eventually our light will fade

And you shall be at peace.