epic "haiku"

Over the red hills
Came riders we did not know
Their steeds made thunder
And clouds behind them.
They were bold under the light
Of a summer sun.
The riders were unkind.
They came not to visit or
For trade.  Their foul aim
Was dripping with blood.
Their shining swords were seen first
With little sun glints
While they were still far
And riding furiously
Down the hills, to town.
Their other decor-
-ations, spoils of other wars,
Began to be plain.
Dried hands and fingers
Waved hello and shooed off those
Who found themselves front
And center with this
Pack of bloodthirsty killers.
Scalps, long braids attached,
Swung violently too.
All too silent, these deathly
Trophies of winners.
Then we saw their teeth.
Cut sharp and filed pointy like
Fangs of snake or shark.
Little white sentries
To grind up invading meat
And let pass rivers.
That seemed like a good
Comparison after that,
When all had happened.
The riders came through
The town like a hurricane,
Tearing down every
Single thing that stood,
In a rush of violence
That none could foresee.
It surprised us all
With its ruthlessness and gore
And its fleeting
Presence through the town.
Almost as soon as we knew
It was there, it passed.
Some died.  Not only
At that moment, struck down by
Heartless, steely blows,
But also later
When their woulds turned black and stank
And their eyes went out.
The rest of us owe
Our lives and livelihood to
The hero who came
When we feared all was
Lost, a champion from the gods,
Blowing in like rain.
He came from the way
We go to the river with
His great sword, leading
Men as rough as trolls,
Who rode hairy ponies, with
Grim faces and sharp knives.
The riders had turned
To come through the town again
When they saw the force.
They attacked without
Hesitation and the great
Hero and his men
Fought them mightily.
Half were struck down and half fled.
The hero took naught
But the horses of 
The fallen; no gold or grain
From us whom he saved.