On the Sustenance and Spoils of Crusading Armies

They crush the shrivelled brush, they champ and chew on that

Cud of their labours, brush, thin spindled brush, consumed

By fire and ravage, great stampede compacted it,

Ravenous, raving, raping fertile land. The arid

Arable land is plundered, mud soiled, once again.

 

And should they sit at fires and sing, “a barren mess,

For unsuspecting baron and his baroness”

Or squat down on their hams, and cram their guts, and chew

Cud of their labours once again, and say, “Amen.”

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