The Black Knight

Rob Anderson




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.