And crackling under the leader’s shoe
Is a tarnished button, a scrap of blue.
Like icy wind his daughter spoke,
“Your plow is chained to a deadly yoke!”
Her fingers clawed within his coat.
His own knife gripped him at the throat.
“Rusty and dull, drive true, drive true!
You shall drink long for the work you do!”
She flung him at the horses’ feet.
“Lie there who dared to touch my sweet!”