I, tied to a post, awaiting them,
my enemies who’ve killed me at last.
Stand my ground against them to the end.
Not much longer, now.
Blood-stained blade, too heavy to lift one last time.
Blood-filled tunic, stained with mine and my last friend’s.
Look, there come the chariots, halting.
The first killer approaches, smiling.
Forgotten, my stand at the fjord
Where Connaught man after Connaught man fell,
Their blood spreading through clear water
Until it ran as red as a sailor’s delight.
Lost, my return from my first battle,
When I immersed in three baths
Before my red-faced rage
turned against my own.
Will anyone remember me?
Will they know how I took the place of Cullen’s hound,
That man-killer I killed as a child,
So earning the name men came to fear?
Or am I just another warrior
Whose head will be the trophy
Of just another warrior,
Soon to be forgotten?
Hat tip to Kiwinana for the lead
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