A night of eerie silence,
Creeps out of the woods.
Lying on land are wounded soldiers,
Around their ravaged goods.
From an immediate creek,
Quietly watched a swan.
For he heard the noises,
There were pistols at dawn.
An army of seven,
Walked down a steep hill,
Having come to kill poachers,
With firm intention and skill.
As the sun hid beneath the sky,
The poachers played their pawn.
Thus began the gunshots,
From the pistols at dawn.
The soldiers perished one by one,
But all the poachers they took to task,
Even the most difficult of them all,
The one in a black satin mask.
The army now waits for aid from countrymen,
They lay low like a vulnerable fawn.
Only a handful witnessed the truth,
Lying low were heroes of the pistols at dawn.