The death of a peasant

As it was assumed

Was not nearly pleasant

And aired of gloom

Poor souls gath'rd round

The sad shallow grave

To say a prayer or two

And remember this knave

A fool she was

For trying to fight

A dark, evil knight

In the middle of day

He warned her once

He warned her twice

She did not listen

His sword warned thrice

Back away she did not

Break down not the dame

His sword did slice

And give her great fame

And so this tale has been told

In between tears and pale faces

The story of a peasant girl

Who shall not grow old

Her tombstone set

The sky begun to rumble

And soon the tumble

Of earth now made wet.