One More Battle
by Michael Doyle

Even legends grow tired
When age creeps in, and winter is cold.
The will is no longer strong or fired
Despite song sung in the days of old.

The price on one's grayed head
Must be collected, alive or dead
If it is worth anything at all.
The winter's chill drops in from the Fall.

One more battle in which we may die,
The balladeers sing as sure as they lie.
They want to say it is for nobility,
But it's nothing more than the test of capability.

If Robin dies, where does he go?
The sun will shine, and winds will blow.
In the end, who will know?
All secrets are held deep inside the shadows.

The mountain passages begin again.
It's the payment made for fresh sins.
The tears of many flow and fall
Before the Raven's last caw.

One more battle in which we may die,
The balladeers sing as sure as they lie.
They want to say it is for nobility,
But it's nothing more than the test of capability.

So much of the savagery
Was born from the camps of poverty.
The mists of time reshape our history.
It paints its legends in faith and mystery.

Under earth, we bury our dead.
But they never vanish from our heads.
The widows and orphans pray to be forgiven,
But it won't happen in the age that we live in.

One more battle in which we may die,
The balladeers sing as sure as they lie.
They want to say it is for nobility,
But it's nothing more than the test of capability.

(c) October 20, 2026   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved