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Good Knight Part III
Sayeth mum, loosen times sand
Lest it be mortar betwixt thine own hands,
Singeth the song and ferget it not,
Memoriam shant forsake royal blood clot.
Hold yer tongue lad, tip toe whence upon graves
Iron rusts slowly save eunuchs and knaves,
Lack of virtue amidst indiscretion,
Another spot of tea & on with yer lesson.
Incredulous naiveté of youth, word unspoken
Bequeath hearts will, sojourners token.
His kiss fare-de-well inhaileth my soul
Drunken oblivion spareth control.
A theif, a scoundrel, I was usurped
Yet yearned & tingled form toe to breast,
Silly youg maiden; he gathered his mount
Helmut now gleamed; the pride of a count.
Fear not for my safe return,
Spirit or flesh doth honor earn.
Stallion reared up, lance thrust in air,
For King & country & maiden so fair.
Trodded off churning dust in his wake,
Chivilrous communion, distant lands forsake,
Misty blue, wanton wench forlorn,
A kings chaff beateth a good mans corn.
Days to weeks, months to years,
Bloody campaign brought sorrow & tears,
Bells now tolled, hear yee town crier
A whey faced harpy listed thou sire.
On the morrow came remnents of legions,
Shattered honor, immoral lessons of reason.
Wounded sentry carried forth the account
Whence Good Knight fell from his mount.
The crafty caliph, he had well planned
Led eager knights through the hot sand,
Taunting skirmishes in a blistering sun
Armor now cauldrons, a mouthless dragon.
For days they cried for water,
Saladin moved in for the slaughter.
Yet Chritian ranks they held firm,
Till sultans masses began to turn.
Turks held grip on oh precious springs
Thirst conquered flesh as madness sings,
Chaos reigned as bastions splintered forces,
The stage pre-empted, riderless horses.
Now tethered remnant vanquished in mock
Surrendereth pride to sultans chopping block,
Most humbleing exhibition, scimitar of red
Limb piles of agony, torsoless heads.
Widow now silent as vement eyes scream,
Executioner still slayeth young maidens dreams.
Damb honor, damb religion and King all to Hell,
Rivers of blood for glory, thy reapers own spell!
Oh Mahomet up high on chariots hill
Doth Jesus shed tears for mortal mans will.
Saladin, Binladin thee icons of woe
Temper thine metal of weaken thou soul?