My Poem Writing

Here is my poem, do you like it?

There he charged alone,

With a cry low and loud,

There he heard a groan,

And saw a blood red cloud.

There he rode outnumbered,

By odds of ten to one,

His men lay dead in the fields,

Shot down by the enemy's guns.

But still, he rode on,

Under heavy fire,

The battle was not yet won,

Till then he would not retire.

Out flanked by the enemy’s power,

Surrounded on all sides,

But still, he would not cower,

Neither he would hide.

His brave horse's mane crested with red,

All his comrades lay still,

Their hearts stopped by lead.

The bullet came flying,

Colliding with his head,

There he lay dying,

Dying an honorable death.

Years later when the fields had regrown,

The people found a body,

The body of Sir Bowen