Gather ‘round me, gather ‘round me,
I’ll tell you of great victory!
I’ve walked the field of Agincourt,
seen polished mail and glinting blade,
the bows in hands of men who end,
this war that’s raged one hundred years!
The mangy lion – sallow, grey,
bedraggled mane and rotting gums,
and bulging eyes, a true mad king,
and arrows stuck in black paw pads!
The sparrow with silver sword beak,
and feathers loose from flood and plague,
small in number but strong in force,
wings beating strong with fiercest pride!
King Henry, golden, sitting proud,
atop his steed, raised one great hand;
great silence fell across our field,
sunset blazing, each breath bated –
And it began!
The lion may be thrice the size,
but sparrows know just where to strike –
France fell! As to a farmer’s scythe,
and England sang its song of pride!
Remember, here, this victory,
sing your freedom, dance, rejoice,
your mother’s mother could not see
that this day would e’er come to pass!
But remember, too –
I’ve told you now, I’ve brought this news,
I too walked through the hero’s field,
so be sure not to cast aside,
your one and only Troubadour.