with each step a groan,
wounds bleeding,
wise counsel unheeding.
commander dead,
on a pike his head,
all alone he ran,
just to avenge one man.
tired and worn out,
unable to fight a bout,
hounded beyond belief,
by internal demons needing relief.
not for his flag,
does he run until he would gag,
but for his friend,
does he rush to his end.
brothers they were,
but now turn apart by war,
in name of God,
so nobles could fight over mere sod.
but then he stumbles,
eyes wide he tumbles,
to become another dead,
rolls away his head.