A great field of snow,
there stood a general once,
the bravest of them all,
he commanded his men to march on.. till death.
He was 10,000 strong, but was once 100,000
Seven years and seven days ago, he set out.
He stormed into the farthest lands,
conquered impenetrable fortresses,
on a quest for the legendary Sword,
for it would give him the might of 60,000 warriors.
His clothes drenched with his prey's blood,
so were his men, wet with blood.
Blades had become dull, shields had broken.
Illness spread, disease to his men and ill to the general.
Once 10,000 was now 1.
Seven years and seven days later
from glory he fell, still searching
wandering aimlessly in the lands he once conquered
tired and broken, he falls to the ground, still
Wondering if he was mistaken and slain his men in vein.
Once adorned with gems and now smeared with dirt.
He closes his eyes and listens to a murmur
It said ”O great general, you found your sword”.
He gleams as he holds his Sword, the might of 60,000 warriors.
He sleeps now under a blanket of dust, he once conquered.
