ASHDOWN

Upon the downs the morning broke, Through winter mist and grey. No word of peace between them spoke, No force would turn away. The Saxon host held higher ground, Their banners met the dawn. Below, the northern ranks were bound To face the battle drawn. The war had reached another hill, Another frozen field. Two armies came with iron will, And neither meant to yield. King Æthelred still held the crown, And Alfred faced the fray. The northern host came pressing down, To test their strength that day. Raise the shield and hold the line, Hear the ravens overhead. Steel will answer steel in time, Snow will bear the names of dead. On the hill where kingdoms strain, Fate is written on the ground. Every crown is bought with pain, Where the war cries shake the downs. The battle broke across the slope, And thundered through the vale. Men fought for kingdom, oath and hope, Beneath the winter gale. The shield walls closed, the spear points crossed, The lines began to strain. Each yard was bought, each moment cost, In iron, blood and pain. What does a crown remember When all the fires are cold? The names of those who carried it, Or only tales of gold? What does the raven witness That kings may never see? The nameless lying on the earth, Who bought their victory. The fighting rolled from rise to rise, Through splintered wood and cries. No mercy waited in the skies, No answer from on high. The western ranks refused to break, Their answer came in steel. And every blow the Northmen gave Was answered on the field. The balance shifted on the hill, The western pressure grew. Yet northern ranks were fighting still, As winter darkness blew. No victory comes without its grave, No glory stands alone. For every banner men would save, Another life was gone. Raise the shield and hold the line, Hear the ravens overhead. Steel will answer steel in time, Snow will bear the names of dead. On the hill where kingdoms strain, Fate is written on the ground. Every crown is bought with pain, Where the war cries shake the downs. When evening touched the frozen land, The western field remained. The Saxons still could make their stand, Though dearly it was gained. The Northmen knew the bitter cost, The fallen marked the plain. One field was won, one field was lost, Yet war would rise again. Do not call the fallen weak, Do not call the living crowned. There are truths that kings don't speak, Buried deep beneath the ground. No single field decides a war, No victory seals the end. Beyond the hills lay battles more, And armies yet would mend. Raise the shield, then lay it down, Let the silence claim the slain. Neither sword nor golden crown Can restore their breath again. Snow will cover every scar, Rain will wash the crimson stone. But the war has travelled far, And no victory stands alone. One field falls behind our way. Still the war demands its day.