For Plunder

Tendrils of chill wreath the air around,

A stoic soldier has rolled into town,

Graceless and unkind is he,

Whom racks the town with misery.

His gait is sloppy, gross, and wild,

His manners those of untamed child,

At bedtime he sits and waits around

For his ugly friends to come to town

They rove the hills and choose their time,

Candlelight in a window their evil sign,

Dressed in dark grey rags they knock,

Awaking the sleepy town with shock,

They troop on in throughout the night,

Haystacks and houses all alight,

Acrid smoke takes place of chill,

Who will save us? None will.