Come the shire-sappers, puffed up and prideful.
Siege engines bringing, fell and foreboding,
Strung with the guts of brave fallen kinsmen.
Ladders they carry of shield-brothers' bones.
Hard fingers scrabble at motte-earth defending.
Pickaxe scores mortar, hammer cracks stone.
Battlements tremble, torches unsconc-ed,
Casts the Lone Tower in darkness and dread.
But now sounds a war-horn, far over hill crown,
Baronial brethren come soon to lend aid.
King's warhost marching, sword- and shield-brothers,
Rending and cleaving the foe as they come.
Long stood the Tower, fell men it's defenders,
Strong are it's Allies, in war-skills and peace.
Fill now their tunnels with strong stone and lumber.
Shore up the timbers their delvings laid bare.
Season shire-catapults with cleansing Greek fire,
Break curse'd ladders, dull the pickaxes,
Un-handle hammers, put good use to the spades.
Cast all as gravegoods in shire-sappers' tomb.