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The Old Lord (Part One)
The night grows cold,
The wind picks up,
Somewhere an old lord,
Is filling his cup,
The gate now opens,
A knight rides in,
Carrying a note,
For a quest to begin,
"Too late!"
The old lord cries,
For in his gown,
In bed he lies,
The new day dawns,
The knight walks up,
The old lord sits intently,
Petting his pup,
"What news do you bring?"
The lord does say,
Handing the note,
The knight looks away,
The seal breaks,
The lord slumps his head,
Reading the letter,
Finds his son is now dead,
Standing up slowly,
Blue eyes ablaze,
Donning his armour,
In a blood thirsty craze,
Weathered arm rising,
Carrying sharpened steel,
Vengence he swears,
Their blood he shall spill,
Calls for his horse,
For his wound can not mend,
For the loss of his son,
Each one he shall rend,
The gate once more opens,
He rides on forth,
He sends out riders,
To message the north,
knights & lords
Knights & Lords
He rode with joints ablaze
with pain and heart too heavy
the knight at his side
brought the telling
the words read
the castle readied.
His horse as old as his cloak
and steel, snorted white breath
on the black night air
and they rode toward revenge
of the beloved Heir
now turning to unavenged ashes.
Love this Ivanhoesque period piece, M'Lord poet. Thanks for the opportunity to go there. Your tale is metaphor for the greatness of our country and our economy and our governance, m'thinks. Or simply Romantic.
~A~
01-30-13
6:27p