Categories > Original > Poetry
A Bard's Tale
Sit by the crackling fire
Hear my tale of wonder and ire
Listen, and heed this warning true
of what happened to those before me and you.
Back before the waters took over the sand,
back before we conquered the land.
Back before we first tilled the soil,
A race of old themselves did foil.
This is back years and years,
But they held some of our greatest fears.
Enough food? they asked. Enough water?
The rivers weren't clean. There was no more cattle for slaughter.
Howerver, they had things that we do not.
Things wonderous, and things over which they fought.
They thought themselves gods, they thought themselves right,
until one of their creations took off into the night.
"The New Cow" it was called, whatever that was.
Who knows what it was? They created it, just because...
Well, to raise it for death. To kill it. To eat it. To maim.
It became aware, and wouldn't play their game.
That cough you get? That fever? That sore?
Originated in that "cow"-and more-
because it bit things, bit people, bit other beings.
And they spread it around, the cough, and the death song it sings.
Or sang, because it no longer causes death. Just misery, itchiness, and woe.
The race was frightened-but how could they know?
First was the rash. The burning.
Then the sores. The oozing.
Then delerium. Then madness. And then...
Up towards the heavens went the souls of women, children, and men.
They died. All but a few.
And from those few...came me and you.
Sit by the crackling fire
Hear my tale of wonder and ire
Listen, and heed this warning true
of what happened to those before me and you.
Back before the waters took over the sand,
back before we conquered the land.
Back before we first tilled the soil,
A race of old themselves did foil.
This is back years and years,
But they held some of our greatest fears.
Enough food? they asked. Enough water?
The rivers weren't clean. There was no more cattle for slaughter.
Howerver, they had things that we do not.
Things wonderous, and things over which they fought.
They thought themselves gods, they thought themselves right,
until one of their creations took off into the night.
"The New Cow" it was called, whatever that was.
Who knows what it was? They created it, just because...
Well, to raise it for death. To kill it. To eat it. To maim.
It became aware, and wouldn't play their game.
That cough you get? That fever? That sore?
Originated in that "cow"-and more-
because it bit things, bit people, bit other beings.
And they spread it around, the cough, and the death song it sings.
Or sang, because it no longer causes death. Just misery, itchiness, and woe.
The race was frightened-but how could they know?
First was the rash. The burning.
Then the sores. The oozing.
Then delerium. Then madness. And then...
Up towards the heavens went the souls of women, children, and men.
They died. All but a few.
And from those few...came me and you.
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