The Rook’s Move

The Rook he sits in that far oak,

Watching Knights and Bishops fall,

Seeing blackness meet the light,

The Rook stands alone

He sees it all.

The pawns of this war are all but gone,

Ivy wrapped around their tombs.

While the King sits in his throne of thorn,

Waiting, for time to turn.

The Rook has seen his people die, his move is nigh,

As he spreads his wings, and spreads his wings,

He spreads his wings, and cries.