ANCIENT CURSE
By the blood
Of ancient warriors
Wasted on the battlefield.
By the sword
The cross
The dagger
By the Lion
On Haralds’ Shield.
May the morning
Never find you
May the sun be black
As night
May your life
Always remind you
Of your cowardice
In flight
You betrayed
Those armed
Around you,
Who befriended you
Before
T’would be best
That you
Would end you
Saving us
That ugly chore.
Go you forth
Into the darkness
Turn your face
From friend and foe
There is none
Who now
Will know you
From this time
Hence evermore.