The Black Knight
The enemy Knight in his ebony mail
Rode in on a steed that was armored as well.
The standard he carried was strapped to his saddle
And flapped in the breeze as he rode into battle.
He mowed down defenders like a scythe harvests wheat
And many a champion there met their defeat.
The sword that he wielded dripped rivers of blood
As he ripped through the ranks like a rampaging flood.
None that opposed him could halt his advance.
And many men died at the point of his lance.
None living nor dead were then spared from his wrath
As he trampled the bodies that littered his path.
The White Queen's attack was blocked by his shield,
Her Bishops were butchered and left in the field.
The King was a dotard, in a corner he cowered
Quaking with fear of the Knight's awesome power.
When the battle was over he surveyed the scene
And basked in the sound of the young widow's screams
And veterans still shiver when they tell the tale
Of the enemy Knight in his ebony mail.