As they drank from their upturned saucers
The generals wept
The battle was lost

I carved into the sands
Of the country
That was no longer mine
The poem
Ard Ards
There was little else to do

I was not transported
As the others were
But ordered to collect flowers
From the battlefields
As the new dictator did not want them damaged
I was impressed at his compassion

Soon I was promoted to the position of head gardener
Responsible for all the countries flowers
With the exception of the primroses
Which were the possessions of the church

Secretly I stole these gentle flowers
And taught them to walk
With the hope of raising an army
But winter came and they withered and died

My plot was uncovered
And I was exiled to The Midgham Primitive
Where I spent my time carving
The poem
Ard Ards
Into the trunks of the petrified trees