The day long and hard fought;
Bodies of the deceased line the bight of the shoreline,
Armies prepared to march into battle.
The group pushed back down;
Unable to continue fighting.
Craven wights flee the losing side;
Only to receive trumpery in return,
Their loyalty to be disdained.
A mere group of ten remains,
Prepared to fight as the bodies were.
They give all to remain,
Absolute, but not absent, they fight for;
To the grave they run,
Unwilling to look back.
A twinge of sadness fills me;
Whilst I was the one who truly ran.
For these ornaments already ornament my body,
We've already won;
The group perishes.
