Blood on Iron
By Jamie Hughes, 2nd year.
The crows picked at the fallen dead like cravens on a field of crimson blood.
The men lay down in the icy dirt resting with their dented and scraped weapons.
Blood of my enemies trickles and drips of the piercing iron spear onto the blades of grass bellow.
Snowflakes fell from the grey clouds and clung to the emotionless blade and turned to a thin stream of steam.
The split metal spear lies buried beneath the earth undisturbed.