love makes the world go round

The day it was ours we thought from the first, as we marched with a full heart to war.
The banners flew high as we followed the King with axe, lance and sword still to draw.
I felt our elation, the cheers of the crowd, the shouts of the peasants below.
The calls for the head of the treacherous Earl a wiling arm to strike the first blow.
My helm it was flecked as if with the blood of an enemy still to be killed.
The sun shyly hid behind clouds of white in the red glow of glory we thrilled.
As we marched into Sutton, the herald proclaimed the town to be loyal to my lord.
But the borough did stink as from Stanley no word, but for Strange mercy not the sword.
We sat straight in the saddle our pennants held high, as we listened to the ravens above.
In silence we thought of all those who would die, and of those to whom we sent our love.
Then gave we full vent to our anger of might, we cursed noble Richmond’s foul name.
We called on the demons who fought on his side and the Devil who gave him his fame.
A Welshman, a foeman, a traitor, a cur we waited his entry a while.
But not stirred the villain he bided his time, a creature in hell he should boil.
Why hate we a man we’ve never yet seen, why hate we what we do not know.
But death he has brought to our fields of green and sorrow to poor maidens brow.
He’s bought from the gaols and sewers of France, an honourable army of might.
Of murderers, thieves, rapists and the like, to carry forth his godly fight.
The King sat unsteady upon his white steed, and cursed on a rose made so red.
He called on his Generals to carry his fight until the foul Richmond be fled.
He called for his banner, the white boar so proud hold high lead on at our head.
But he didn’t know as his nobles rode by, that shortly they all would lie dead.
He called upon Saint George’s holy name, he called on men who’d be free.
He called on the knights and the archers so bold, and last, but not least called on me.
So we held high his flag and we lowered the lance, and we called on God for our gain.
We charged at the Dragon and swept side his knights, but for us no victory just pain.
Down upon us a drenching of death from the bow, as the treacherous Stanley changed side.
And struck down his King with that horrible blow and the shouts of his creatures deride.
Surrounded and dying King Richard fought strong, to his knees he just would not go.
But hero or villain he could not withstand, the hurtling might of his foe.
They cut him, they cleft him, they battered him down, as Percy above did not move.
And from his dead forehead removed they the crown, and gave it to Tudor to prove.
We hung from the branches like fruit ripened red, whilst they hacked us and gouged out our eyes.
Tudor danced, pranced and laughed with a terrible glee and ignored himself our dying cries.
God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world and the armies of York all are dead.
The white rose lies trampled under the foot and corruption and greed fills the red.
King Richard’s ghost would not lie still, whilst the traitors who killed him grew fat.
And Justice denied him and lost to his cause on his throne there a traitor sat.
So come here in August when the heavens are bright, come walk here on fields of green.
And see played before you old York’s last fight and the bravest King England has seen.
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(The Battle of Bosworth Field the last and bloodiest battle of the 30 years long Wars of
the Roses was fought on August 22nd 1485.
Archaeologists this week found the true sight of the battle 8 miles from the previousl
thought site and with it the true site of Richard III ‘s death.
Richard was the last King of England to die in battle and with him ended the line of the
Plantagenet who had ruled England since 1066.
DKS 24.2.2010.)
D.K.Sherratt
Copy write 1994
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Love Makes The World Go Round
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