Maiden and the Knight

In the darke of the knight,
in the pale moone light,
demure in the sight,
of her golden hair.

For no one could save her,
save those who could savor,
and thus win her favor,
and a wink of her eye.

In her castle keep,
where she could not sleep,
she wished she could leap,
to her death below.

For she had been troth,
to an ogre from the north,
a poison from a witch's broth,
would quickly end her sorrow.

But In the morning light,
its reflection shining bright,
the polished armor of a knight,
came into view.

The castle was abuzz with cheer,
a Crusades hero drew near,
his accomplishments no peer,
in all the land of yore.

As a man of the hour,
the lord doth shower,
the knight with honor,
as a welcome guest.

With an eagle's power,
the knight spied in the tower,
the golden haired flower,
high in the keep.

The ogre soon arrived,
and as the lord had connived,
the maiden's life be deprived,
the very next day.

A great feast began,
and all the lord's men,
joined in until long after when,
the last barrel of meade rolled.

The knight slipped out, ignored,
while the whole host snored,
jammed an arrow in a gourd,
and tied a rope on tight.

Outside the castle wall,
where the maiden's tears fall,
with gentle night bird call,
the knight wooed her out.

The arrow was shot,
and the maiden, hit not,
climbed down from that spot,
to her knight's arms.

They rode into the darke,
in great haste for their hark,
knowing that a high marke,
would be placed o're their heads.

'Till dawn they rode,
'till sleep like a load,
upon them abode,
by a gentle stream.

They awoke in a dream,
full of flowers, honey, and cream,
to the last sun 's beam,
they frolicked and played.

Hearing hounds on the hill,
they rode for the thrill,
for no one could kill,
their new love.

Not prone to boast,
they accepted captain's toast,
as they sailed for the coast,
of France and their freedom.

The maiden runs off with her knight

An olde English dream...

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Copyright 2013 © Ronald W. Hull


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