What Was Taken

The grain on my hills, Made into your bread while Children grew thin in their homes. The swine in my pens, Roasted in your banquets until Your corpulence matched your greed. The grapes grown in my arbors Fed to you by ambitions whores Or drunk from my chalices. The woman in my palace, Desperate in her weaving, afraid You would force your way upon her The son on my speedy ship, Driven away in guise so your Claims could be written on scolls. What was taken, Will soon be once more In my weathers hands. Much like this bow You could not string.