From Northern Asia,
decends a horde,
so vast in number,
the very earth shakes.
From the steppes they,
sweep down,
Crushing all that satnd
before.
Like a relentless fever,
they strike down
all.
The Western Empire
stands ready with a
shield.
Waithing to weather the
Hunnic Horde.
The shield lies broken.
The gateway
open.
Soon Rome itself,
may very well fall.
It is not swords
that will stop this
horde.
For Attila is a
master of
war.
It is a simple man,
one of the cloth.
That saves the Empire
from,
Attila the Huns
Unstoppable
Horde.
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Interesting how you pound the concept of "horde" - repeating it like a drumbeat of doom! At first it seems like a weaknesss in the writing. But then it becomes a forlorn rhythm!
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