Norse the Horse
The weight of a crown is a terrible curse.
But the weight of a king is even worse.
He kicked with his heel and the sea was gone
but the road ran on and on and on.
He struck with his fist and, faster still,
we came to the foot of Senlac Hill
and all night long, as we waited there,
I shrank from the stench of his Norman prayer.
‘Oh lord and father, put these lands
into our fat and greedy hands…….”
Then, bent like hell on his terrible course
he shamed the saddle of Norse the Horse.
The earth was drenched. Blood seeped like tears,
into the ground and down the years.
Their bodies henched, their freedom dust;
they mulched with wood and leaves and rust.
But on we plundered, through every shire.
I bit my words and the words bit fire:
You can sit on my back like a big, fat toad
but in the end – you will explode!
The strike of a king can be hard or fair
but the strike of a thief is the one we share.