BY AVELLINA BALESTRI

 Still was the night before the fight

Loud were the horns of warning

Deep were our sighs and dark the eyes

That met ours in the morning

~

The fight’s to begin, and what’s to be said?

The sky is melting an orange-red

The host now hovers, a haunting gray

Our throats constrict, lest we might pray

O shield Thou not Thy face!

~

Cold was the night before the fight

Warm was the sun-soaked dawning

Bright was the lance that broke our trance

And tore the veil of morning

~

The fight’s to begin; men straddle their steeds

I know they’ll be hacked down like weeds!

My words feel dry, my tongue like clay

What hope can I give? What more can I say?

O shield Thou not Thy face!

~

Strong was the will of Man to kill

But Woman’s will was strongest

Clear was her choice and clear her voice

That screamed our war-cry longest

~

The fight’s to begin – who is that fair lad

With hair the color of coastal sand

And eyes like frozen ocean spray…

Where have I seen him before today?

O help me place that face!

~

Hard rode the steeds at breakneck speed

Galloping down the valley

Taut were the bows pulled back by our foes

And woodcuts marked their tally

~

The fight has begun, and what’s to be done?

Our tears have like a river run

Our prayers are like the salt that stings

Carried up on broken wings

O shield Thou not Thy face!

~

Long was the night before the fight

Short was the red-hued dawning

Keen was the sword and keen the word

That pierced the mist-cloaked morning

~

The fight is hard-pressed; what’s left unto me?

My soul is tossed like the wine-dark sea

My breath like a sob, my heart like a drum

My mind still pleads without my tongue

O shield Thou not Thy face!

~

Hard was the night before the fight

Liquid the golden dawning

Hard was the fight before the flight

Which splintered their ranks that morning

~

By darkest of deaths…the lad is a lass!

Her eyes as searing as ocean glass

Her voice is pure, her sword is clean

The light reflecting casts a sheen

Upon my bloodied face…

~

Quiet the dusk and gold the rust

That once had glowed in the dawning

But the witch king is dead; his life-wound runs red

As crimson as early morning

~

The battle is over, but when ends the war?

I ask upon the plain of gore

The touch of my kin; the lass is a queen

I know the brown leaves will turn green

And we will see Thy face…