Gargantuan armies smash and splatter the heaving mud,
Each insignificant warrior’s knowledge of battle shattered on broken shields,
As the drench of barbed droplets strikes each man, their minds turn to their now broken dreams,
Of feats of heroism and shining armour and the parties and feasts that were to follow after.
Arrows falling from the sky like leaves in autumn,
Soldiers armour as strong as paper before the explosions of arrows and steel.
The empty road was covered by a velvet carpet, silky as a stream,
as if a king or lord was about to process onto the hellish field,
strands of sodden leather feebly drape over the empty shells of men,
hacked and stabbed until they resemble nothing but half finished sculptures.