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The Last Enemy

The screams and the cries of the long battle dimmed,
while a few survivors in grim dance remained.
A dying sun strove to pierce churning clouds
reflecting the hue of the field's blood-painted grain.
Two warriors stood fast while all others fled,
their armour was torn and their strength nearly spent.
A champion was each, their names were unknown
their faces unseen, their helms broken and bent.
They joined in battle with sword and with shield,
around and around, neither one would give way.
In valiant skill each found a true equal;
Strive as they might, neither one could win sway.
The sun finally sank and they stopped for a while,
to rest for the night and resume the next day.
Each went to his side of the doomed battle field,
and nodded to sleep with the last twilight ray.
One warrior awoke and dressed in his mail;
he took up his harness and strapped on his shield.
And stepped out to search in the new morning day,
for his most gallant foe who never would yield.
When over the field he was struck by a sight,
a golden-haired maiden full clothed for war.
His hands lost all strength, for his heart was struck deep,
and his soul lay conquered, her enemy no more.
She too surrendered when she her True Love beheld,
a true valiant heart; her gallant heart's mate.
And two deadly foes at once became lovers,
the soft hand of love slew-the hard hand of hate.
He rode far away from the land and its war,
a man now of peace to evermore ride.
To seek out a home for his children to grow,
no longer alone, for she rode by his side.

Written for the wedding of Haos Windchaser and Bryony of the Bees
by Lord Thomas Buttesthorn



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