The Warrior and the baby King

I haven’t written poetry since Primary School. Whilst I was in the car listening to Radio 4 (yes, I’m that old, and the R1 DJ are, to be honest, thick as shit) they were talking about ‘stuff’ and poetry came up.

Then I got to thinking as I was driving and boom, the rather rhymey example you see below was born. It’s five minutes of writing. Might see if I can do better, but I have 101 other projects to do first 🙂

Upon a shattered castle wall, a warrior stands,
a baby he cradles in bloodied hands,
a city in ruins is all that they can view,
of survivors, he knows there are but a few,
‘Well my little king, the conquest is done,
And of rulers there can be only one’
He throws the baby over the wall,
It falls with but a feeble call,
He grasps a circlet of gold, the young king’s crown,
‘Long live the King’ his people cry
As he lowers it to rest over a frown