©
1997 All photos by Robert Nielsen 
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by Robert Clark Nielsen © 2-7-1990
It happened on an evening clear
And all the battles sounding
Could not have ever covered up,
Nor even masked the moaning.
The spear, it stuck into his back
And out, again, his belly.
He, falling forth could only see
But just a glimpse behind him.
The dim, glazed eyes, his enemy's
Would ultimately be closing.
Who, in the haste of thrusting
Someone in the back a spear,
Had met a sword indifferent of
The cowardly career.
Unlike the malefactor's deeds,
The warrior's were noble.
His forward bounding efforts brought
Him peace and calm reflection.
For, in the course of all his days,
Had he integrity.
The moaning rose and fell, and then,
An ever piercing holler.
The last retreating topple of
A creeping bugger's folly.
His sword had caused the fatal wound.
The punishment had fit the crime.
He knew, from whence the bellow came,
The woeful pangs of hell.
