The Elfin War
In the mystic lands of new Elfton,
The locals panic and run,
The Elfin war's thirst for bloodshed,
Trees uprooted and the sand bled.
I saw the tavern's lamp glow,
Untouched by the bloody wind's blow,
Its inhabitants talked of the terrible war,
As they chug their beer from the war so far.
The tavern grew with its special beer,
She called her folks and they held her dear,
Though made of grain,
Whose farmer forgot to care,
It sure gave the Tavern its share.
"How terrible a fate!"
Exclaimed a man, bones scattered on his plate,
As I interviewed him in the tavern,
I heard laughter, clash of glasses as I left him to his concern.
"What care do I have?
With the war, there are more talks to have,
With the war, there are more folks to have,
With the war, there are more bucks to have."
Spoke the bartender, as I interviewed him,
He went on cleaning and embracing his dream.
"His promises, my heart fears,
What happened to his letters from the frontiers?"
Sobbed A lady in white in the amber light,
She sat on the stairs, quite a sight,
Surrounded by dark outside the bright tavern,
She talked of love and her concern,
As She tucked her unwashed, yet beautiful hair,
In hope of dressing it again,
When She reads those letters of love.
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