Call to Arms

(Another Amphribrach!) The values they cherish are threatened by conquest, defence must be swift and leave no room for doubt that brave hearts will answer when need is the greatest, that courage and valour will put foes to rout. The horses are saddled, the riders are mounting, obeying the order that calls them to war, the enemy forces have long passed their counting yet nary a man would stay safe by his door. They leave here behind them their wives and their chattels, not all will return to the homes they adore; for Death has a quota he takes from all battles, respecting no flag as he builds up his score. The columns move forward to where they are needed, defenders already have challenged the foe who seeks to impose his strange ways unimpeded, too few are the ranks of those men saying ‘NO!’ They come to the battle as morning is breaking and see the proud banners where heroes await the friends they rely on in this undertaking, so fine is the scale in the balance of fate. The fighting is fierce and the enemy stronger, the outcome looks bleak for the ranks of the few, it seems that their colours can’t hold out much longer, the riders charge forward and hope springs anew. Yet they know the strength of the new force is slender when measured against the opponents they face, though courage and valour will voice no surrender, the outcome seems certain – defeat and disgrace. Then over the hilltop come farmers and tradesmen all carrying half-staffs or long handled hoes they enter the fray to support struggling kinsmen and turn back the charge of the oncoming foes. A new heart lends strength to the army defending they drive themselves forward as if they all know that this fight is reaching an unforeseen ending, an ending that means the defeat of the foe. The people united prove too strong for conquest that strength lies in love for the land they all share the lesson learned hardest is one that lasts longest let tyrants take note and usurpers beware. With victory won, all their dead must be gathered, to honour the price that was paid ‘neath the sky, a bill paid in blood by a husband or father, though few stop to listen as war’s widows cry. Their grief will last longer than memories of glory, their loss is too basic to measure in tears, we always omit such sad facts from the story when writing reports to pass down through the years.