The Archer (A Continuation of The Knight)

A smaller epic for a continuation of my small epic.

The archer looked upon the knight with a solemn grin,
Sorry for what he had done,
Even though he knew his deadly sin,
The war had been won.

In the aftermath of the battle,
He looked upon the field green,
Geting into his horse's saddle,
Knowing what he had done and seen.

He rides his horse to the village,
Where he is greeted with many a cheer,
For this was the second town he had pillaged,
Upon this morning clear.

He never knew what was to come,
For he had yet to learn,
That he had killed the only son
For which he had yearn.

It was not the king he had killed that day,
But a man of greater status been.
He had, in simple words to say,
Shot and killed his own kin.

The archer did not know that his boy was gone,
Until he got home that night from the tavern,
Where he saw his son's armor on the lawn,
All rusty and blood-spattered.

The archer knelt down, bow in hand,
And wept day and nigh.
He has yet go back to his son's burial land,
And cannot, after many a decade, tell the story without a sigh.

He says he can never forget that wretched day,
The triumphant, guiltless smile upon his lips,
He says his son was all his heart, to say,
And yet stil the blood doth drip.

Now he is on his land,
With his wife and one other kid,
But even though his materials grand,
He cannot forget the son he had accidentally rid.

He sends a message on this evening breeze,
That his son has yet to know why his father did such a deed,
And years to go before he sees,
And years to go before he sees.