Falling leaves dot the crimson knell
of battle fought on scattered fields
Minds in loss now bear, and not dwell
on strewn lives lying beneath shields

A cry is heard beyond the rise
in sobs of lost and mourn of wail
a soulful sound of shuddered cries
is now all’s left from warring flail

The ground in red does flow yet free
into the brook once babbling clear
from spite and fight for chivalry
and flow of yet ten thousand tears

On ear the moan of dying ring
becomes most quiet as hours expend
as angels fly to softly sing
the birds of black do take to wind

In right to fight and toil to see
most gallant knights of land and all
To victor will go spoils to be
as castles rise and stone walls fall