in a crypt below a soldier stirs
his bones preserved with shield and spurs
the last he heard a grisly scream
and there was left to die

he’d gambled life, like gambled wine
his armour wove of broken twine
he followed hag to battle ground
and there made men to lie

but last he felt fate unintended
a plan that hag had all upended
for hers was greed more wide than time
no heart from her could hide

the stop was quick, sharp as metal
his armour clinked, chain broke and brittle
and there the scream of triumph came
from her the haggers cry

and now the weight of ground pressed through him
his rocky heap of dirt and ruin
he sensed through roots that held his limbs
the cold, autumnal sigh

he stretched and waited calculating
the crypt would soon unhinge their gating
and out of holes the dead would climb
and theirs would be the night.

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