A simple, single vocal cord have I
And yet I sing, describe a graceful arc
And sentence man and beast alike to die.
My bite is vicious, though I have no bark;
You’ll hear me groan, perhaps, but never cry.
In bones and history books I’ve left my mark.
I took the field in numbers long ago;
With me, serfs conquered kingdoms, but no more.
From princes to the lowest of the low
They feared, despised and hated me. To draw
Me takes a practised hand; an art on show
For all the world to see at Agincourt.
And though I’m long supplanted I can still
Prove deadly when you bend me to your will.