The Conquered

If I was a conqueror I too would have chosen
this hill on which to build, my scary edifice,
I’d have the keenest eyed amongst my men
observe the channel,
in case some jealous brother already arrayed
in my birthright might take a chance here,
where so many died in the marsh, already
march dead, down on rations.

But I am no conqueror I am conquered
by the ranged armies of your charms
and I choose this hill to walk with you,
arm in conquered arm.