Here once stood a mighty fort,

A place of carved stone and glass,

Where now only foundations,

Might alert those of who pass,

Built by a regent, his name, I forget,

Nobel of a long lost estate,

Pioneer and conqueror of men,

His greed would seal his fate,

Born beneath these very bows,

In a ramshackle little hut,

They said his fater was a sailor,

They called his mother 'slut'!

Shunned by those more civilised,

The bastard and the whore,

His mother passed when he was young,

Alone the stigma he bore,

In summer he went hungry,

In winter he cold alone he froze,

The garden failed the furs were bear,

A skinny boy, wretched in ill fitting clothes,

One day the urchin hunted,

With arrows chipped from stone,

Confronted by a naked beauty,

Offering the world asking only for his bone.