Gunpowder Poem by Hell 'Farya

'Tis midnight when the clock stops,
And a child is left in the brewing ruckus.
See the mama—
Her pace was heel to skull, fast.
A sorry lore; now they must part.

Lo, the herald's brow lay worrisome.
Aloft his horse, he wailed in irksome.
'A lost message! ' cried he.
He dismounted and went on ahead,
Never to return; nothing was ever heard.

Ah, a long-awaited reconnaissance!
The journey gives not a chance.
Neither gave up.
If not by ease, then by might—
Sadly, a view it became for the sight.

The sun rose early from the west.
A bird cried and cursed in her nest.
She shaded her eyes;
Then the sun went about his business,
For beyond the light, a viper-ess.

'Tis midnight when the clock stops.
Lo, the king found the herald's horse,
Never giving up -
Come dawn, the sun again shall rise.
Till then, we shall see.