The winds blew the tall blades of grass between their feet.

Feet that had not slept or touched the softness or sweetness in lives grounds.

Weary and heavily burdened they did treed though rotten fields.
The air not heavy enough to lie its way into their steadying patrons.

For had not they the faith of a thousand men, that in times past had felt this earth they now stood upon.

No, they had chosen to kneel not stand before their judge and beg before their jury.

For they would face life badly between toes of four not five.

They were certain to loose the others in the battles ahead.

They were insane, yet sane within their insanity.

Their maddening senses awakened by what lay ahead.

Could they no longer pursue such fruitful destines within enemies loosing head but not height.

They had knocked them down, but they had only grown stronger in modesty.