They once have called him general,
war’s written in his bones.
When he showed up,
the peace just broke,
like bird wings under stones.

This here may be his story though,
no stag dares to remember.
The cruelness, which followed him,
sapped thousand lives to ember.

It was, when autumn reached the trees,
that brothers started fight.
Quarrels, nothing serious
‘til HE gave hate a ride.

The scars were like his favorite coat,
a bull among the stags.
His strength attracted feisty ones,
like him to raise their flags.

War has found the forest now
and stained all meadows red.
The general as figurehead
relentless soldiers led.

His fur itself seemed turned to blood,
an epitaph for Proud.
For ideals, life and nameless troops
whose last breath was a shout.

The final battle soonish came,
the leaders faced each other.
Their antlers dashed, while comrades died,
one after another.

No foe survived the generals rage,
so couldn’t this one too.
But when he triumphantly cried,
a silent wind just blew.

He never got an answer
from the rotting battle field,
the war is past, bad dream by now,
all wounds oblivion healed.

No one still knows the generals fate,
which cached him up back then.
But if you rub a crying stone
you may turn red like him.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, my second poem in english...surely no masterpiece, but doing it was fun. Every constructive criticism is fine, and...I know, the war-theme doesn't really fit in the forest but since there are so many mysterious things in there...why not creating some legends about it?
The more, the better!