The Battle

By: Yash Srivastav

Swords are swung,
Peasants are hung,
Many of them cry,
Some even die.
Torches, daggers, and swords
Badly injured is the lord
War goes on for many years,
Blood, death, and many tears
Suddenly a white flag is waved,
Many souls are saved
Weapons clatter against the ground,
What a lovely sound.