Two dusty and Footsore Bards
two dusty and footsore bards
in robes faded and torn
came upon a village
one cold and frosty morn...
their eyes were tired yet wary
they would never forget
as they led a weary donkey
who walked with plodding step...
the older of the two staggered
in a stumbling shuffle
as if injured or sick
and they carried sharpened pikestaffs
rather than journeyers stick...
the younger seemed wounded
a limp slowed him down
as they slowly made their way
into the mountain town...
the villagers came out to greet them
strong arms offered them support
as the village elder pressed them
to offer their report ...
in tired and weary tones
the bards told of all they saw
they spoke of fire and blood
and stench of embittered war...
we've walked many a long and tiresome path
to reach this haven of peace at last
and still we fear war's ruthless tide
we fear there is nowhere left to hide...
but the bards brought a timely warning
and as the villagers prepared for the worst
the weary bards finally rested
by the warm and peaceful hearth;