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Centaurs armed the western gate,
And serpents draped her
spires,
A dragon manned the catapult
And rained relentless fire.
She was the grandest fortress
The world had ever
seen,
And jealousy had sealed the fate,
The fate of Adamantine.
Adam's Needle stately towered
By the northern
gate,
And here the de'il centurion
Gave thought to lie in wait.
All felt the fortress safe and sure,
All felt a certain
pride,
Amid a hostile enemy
They were unscathed by fire!
Yet, under stealth a stallion rode
Unto the southern
wall,
With Nike high atop his back,
And evil as his lord.
The Minotaur there proved no match
For the deadly
combination,
Of hate and greed and lust and strength
And dire
determination.
On Destrier the goddess rode,
On through the southern
gate,
And it was then a cry went out
But it was much too late!
The demons rocked the fortress
To it's very
cornerstone,
And a sound was heard like thunder
To the ancient ruins of
Rome.
The Centaur died —
The snakes succumbed
—
And Adam's Needle fell;
And the dragon's breath was
smothered
By the blood that ran pell-mell.
The toil of all who built her spires
That teased the
distant skies,
Were lost forever to the world,
For all that day had
died!
