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A warm fire.  

I am smashed, I am down, on this bloody battlefield,

My horse is dead, I am gravely wounded, but I will never yield,

Warriors step on me, and over me fighting, thrashing all around,

My body, my armour, is heavy, cold pressing me to the ground.

The armies regroup and line up facing each other in ragged rows,

A horn blasts out, across the fields and off the body fetchers go,

A hand goes under my armpit and I jerk in suprise,

I,m being dragged back to my men under leaden grey skies.

The fetchers drag me past the front row to rest upon a tree,

A few of my bravest knights, and friends, come to comfort me,

My silver coloured armour is dented and battered in the fight,

I'm injured very seriously I will not last the night.

And so to comfort me in my last and fading goodbyes,

A fire is lit, I feel its warmth, I'm happy, I finaly close my eyes.




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