The Final Harvest

[Haseroth 1740]

Within the midst of the Veletz tavern, a poem finds itself penned upon the side of a pillar. It reads as followed.
 

In Veletz green, beneath the sun's warm glow,
A farmer's hand did till the earth below.
He sowed his seeds and reaped the golden yield,
His heart at peace, his fate not yet revealed.
 

The drum of war did beat, a somber sound,
And men of earth became the battleground.
From plow to sword, the farmer's hand was sworn,
To fields of death, his spirit, battle-worn.
 

He stood in line, a shield amidst the storm,
A simple man in uniform transformed.
His dreams of harvest moons now cast aside,
For honor called — a call he could not hide.
 

In twilight's grasp, the battle fiercely wailed,
Against his home, dark forces had assailed.
He fought with courage, though his heart did mourn
For tranquil days and fields of waving corn.
 

A blade did find him 'neath the mournful sky,
His blood did feed the land for which he'd die.
A farmer no more, but a soldier true,
His final breath a mist in morning's dew.
 

In Veletz fields, where once he stood so proud,
His body lies, enshrouded by a shroud.
Yet from his death, a solemn truth does spring —
In hallowed ground, his valor everlasting.
 

For though he fell, and tears like rivers flow,
In defense of home, his honor does bestow
A legacy that time can never fray —
The farmer-soldier who in earth now lay.