Alas, the forallies Harpy and Valkyrie Near assayed and altogether destroyed
The earth, engaging In the fire art, enraged at everything.
Both being the same brood One of speckled wing, the other spotted
This their only feigned figure Of difference, forlorn and now forgotten.
One race bore from the North, The other race bore from the South
Which was spotted or speckled Specious it was, so no one knows.
The elvish Cur Brutess bore The wrath, to unleash the elvish brutes
Upon the earth. Forty thousand etched their way;—
Women nude, with nipple shown Through shadow light, cloths
Beautiful, to bear their ivory And ebony skins.
Learned the craft of the Valkyrie Learned the craft of the Harpy
Bromdun was in the bulks of Alban’s Hordes. When Brutess’
Snipers shot their shod lit arrows Felling sure men of Alban’s sortie.
Sixty-thousand, Alban’s men maneuvered With their steel flashing
Greatly upon shocked earth. The silver sheaths cutting the gorge
Of the beautiful Elvan curs Their breasts flapped in weapons brist
Upon the shaved death. Alban’s men fought sure and brave
Beating back the Elvan onslaught. Yet, in the battle, Bromdun
Was beaten with a brash blow Causing he to bruise his borne brain
And ease himself of every Sin’s epistle. Thus, every man saw Bromdun’s evil.
Bromdun fell, disgraced, digressed, Like Andrey he fell, dying, dredged.
He was held in the back beds Where bruised, he was bedded
In captivity for the revelation Of his capricious repents.
Sin was brought to memory, Memory left him maimed.
He heard the Lancs Lowing Landing themselves in the lewd traps.
Bromdun leered, and longed To have fallen with the long train of troops.
He has yet to hear Whether York had halted.
The Bearwolf sung his songs But the smell of the strong ashes
Of Lordess Brutess’ battle Lingered over the battlefield
Like the prison boy, Starved and pot bellied because of pride.
The Harpies cried for war, The Valkyries cried for war
Bromdun, who had Lost his heart in battle
Cried for peace; Ever crying, carelessly.
Longing for Lancaster to Lampoon York’s lackluster lewdness.
For Omri had omnipresent rule Over the elvish operatives.
B. K. Neifert 