(in memory of Edgar Allan Poe)

A pool of blood from the battlefield congealed enough to stand
“Revenge!” it cried and gripped a sword still held by a severed hand
It stalked across the killing ground, where ravens swirled around
and seemed to see with the eyes they dropped as they fled from their feast newfound

The Blood then came to the victors’ camp where the orgy now held sway
and the heroes quaffed the rich, red wine like the blood they spilt that day
“I’ve come to bring,” the Blood did sing“some guests to join your feast:
The first is King of Death, my friends, the second is The Beast”

The startled drunkards reeled around unable to believe
their eyes which clearly showed the truth and the weakness in their knees
as the Blood began to slash and dice and cut them down with ease
So soon had doom descended but there came a swift reprieve

The Blood that loomed so awesomely was being drained away
A sucking sound was heard beneath his legs of liquid clay
With loathsome maw the Blood looked down to the source of his distress
The plants with roots beneath the ground had turned his life to death

and from below, a silver voice hissed this: that men despoil
“To live, they kill each living thing that rises from the soil
so if revenge be had today then let that joy be ours”
And drinking down the blood, the ground sent up a field of flowers