The battlefield is covered by mysts,
The soil is moist with blood and rain,
And ravens caw, and feast upon the flesh
Of those who'll never rise again.
In time, their bones will sink into the mire,
The crows will leave to find another battlefield,
The fallen heroes of this fight will be admired,
Or, probably, forgotten.
And green grass
Will cover the battlefield,
Erasing memory as years pass.