Teutoburg

The trees creak their wagging tale,

Where spears bite hard and swords impale.

Screams echo in this forest land,

A place of death where victory stands.

Scattered corpses pools of red,

Guts and gore and dispatched heads.

Ravens pluck the fallen’s eyes,

As the wolves gather close to howl and cry.

Three golden eagles cast asunder,

A barbarian storm of light and thunder.

Blood teared rain stains the battleground,

Where the moans of the dying are the only sounds.

And as darkness crawls the branches crack,

The clouds pull apart as the sky turns black.

Silence descends with a shivering call,

And blankets the ground where the Romans fall.

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