The flags whipped atop ragged castle battlements
A foamy mass of sweat and terror waiting to roll on them
The enemy’s foul stench carried to them on the roaring gale
Fear fell among the iron ranks as a heavy fog upon the marsh of hearts
Protect the Grove inside the walls
Where the Queen and her lover sit beneath a blooming apple tree
As the flaming arrows rein, the King counts his futile gold
The King’s gentleman and the Baroness ride away
With saddle bags laden full of fragile flammable history
The Viscount and a lady’s maid’s tumble has ended abruptly
When the cook throws the field hands’ stew on the Duke who was passing
And the rubble begins to tumble through the Grove
Soldiers flood royal apartments pulling tapestries from walls
Revealing hidden passages that not a fortnight ago lovers had trod
Only the Royal Advisor paces his chamber floor
Then turns to his window and laughs as a horse disappears
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