The taste of victory is sweet, but brief.
Before the tongue can savor what’s hard won
An empty place reminds us of our grief
A wall of speartips glinting in the sun
Encloses but a well of loneliness
That once was twelve brave hearts, and for each one
An empty chair, a bed, a wedding dress
Will daily grieve another heart in turn.
Twelve saddles empty, horses riderless
Twelve candles in the window set to burn.
To twelve brave women, clinging to belief
twelve swords, twelve shields are all I can return.
The taste of victory is sweet, but brief
an emptiness reminds us of our grief
For Garulf and Edrys
edrys I hope I have the date right -