The Tale of the Lonely Marksman
Yonder, 'cross wooded path to meet
Was once thine fallen foe.
Atop a ridge, the sunlit beams
Shown tales of long ago.
Not so long, though, thy heroes' blood
Did taint such bitter land.
For few moments passed from memory
Of one man's sure command.
'Twas on this ridge where he did stand
To face his inward cry.
By his hands, he was sure,
His companions, his brothers, died.
"Captain" so was his name,
And by virtue, he'd been placed.
Through his visor, one could see
His weary life'd been traced.
"Why, hast thou taken from me
By higher kingdom's quarrel?
'Twas not I who chose this life.
We're but celebrated chattel."
Bred for war, this brave man knew
His life and death to be.
No alabaster stones to bear his name,
Nor nights of civil pageantry.
So lonely one Captain felt
On the hour of the full moon's glow.
Alone in a place of treasured bliss
Was such his tale of woe.