Aiming their bows,
As the wind strongly blows,
Shooting their shots
As they miss their targetted spots,
They start digging barrows,
So that they may hide from the incoming arrows,
That night they wouldn't sleep on their pillows,
That night their wifes became widows,
They perfectly planned their battle phase,
But it didn't connect just like a stupid phrase,
Their battle was not even glorious,
It was a story about the worriors.
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