I am all on my own, Wounded by iron weapons and scarred by swords. I often see battle. I am tired of fighting. I do not expect to be allowed to retire from warfare Before I am completely done for. At the wall of the city, I am knocked about And bitten again and again. Hard edged things made by the blacksmith's hammer attack me. Each time I wait for something worse. I have never been able to find a doctor who could make me better Or give me medicine made from herbs. Instead the sword gashes all over me grow bigger day and night