Grimwood Scribes

Outside a fortress Citadel

Hangs an iron chain that rings a bell

All those that slowly pull the chain

Will enter Grimwood Scribes domain

For at a desk by candle fire

Is the Lord of Grimney mire

He has a mighty intellect

But that won’t earn him our respect

For he is a man who loathes the poor

So tortures them through wicked law

Counting coins from a callous tax

Whilst the fire melts the candle wax

Now and then his mouth will drip

From his drooling bottom lip

As yellow dances in his eyes 

He forgets the suffering poor man’s cries

Scribes is a man of hefty bulk

And behind his desk he likes to skulk

Encased in armour with a flowing cape

That will never ever conceal his shape

Every now and then his voice will bellow 

As he curses a servant or some other fellow 

All who know him live in fear

Of this twisted man so insincere..

Grimwood Scribes