Axis & Allies - damowords

Wellingtonʹs Victory
As thoʹ to some pre‐destinʹd harmony,
Black flags flying like vengeful, hungry crows,
The hate‐fillʹd horde of Prussians show pity
No mind as throʹ the ruptured right flank flows;
Sunsetting stream
Dips neath the smoky clouds,
Casting a copper beam upon the golden crowds.
The Duke shone black upon the verge,
Sky red as an evening wine,
Hat waving high his lads emerge,
Form a mile‐wide scarlet line,
Who with one great glorious surge,
With fleeing French entwine ‐
Architects of this gallic tragedy,
Empassionʹd by triumphant exstasi.
& as he watchʹd his rascals run
He gave a poignant smile
Napoleon had fired his gun
At all his rank & file,
Yet they stood firm, as did his nerve, forever France to rile.
The Fields of Waterloo
20:15
The Soul of France
Sheltering in the centre of a square,
His loyal First viewʹd their leader blankly,
Who, with the terrible rage of despair,
Stood to save the honour of the army;
Breathing a sigh
Retiring in all haste,
He left his men to die as on the Russian waste.
Befitting the call of glory,
Steepʹd in mystique ʹtil the last,
Like islands in a raging sea,
Screaming comrades streaming past,
Swarmʹd by hussars & infantry
They fought fierce & steadfast ‐
Freddie Johnstone pleads them to surrender,
Dead silence feeds the defiant, ʺMerde!ʺ
ʺLa Garde meurt mais ne se rend pas!ʺ
Twelve cannon packʹd with case
Administer the coup de grace,
Deathʹs scythe swept throʹ the space,
The soul of the Grand Armee duly vanishʹd from Earthʹs face.
La Belle Alliance
20:30