The Bard’s Tale



Have harp, will travel…but even without,
I’ll get by on my wits to cheer the crowd;
Weaving tales or magic, there is no doubt
I can take away every heart’s dark cloud.

I have no house, and yet I am home
Wherever I lay my head for the night,
The pursuit of Life compels me to roam…
An apple from which I must take a bite.

While it may seem that I might have no cares,
Take heed…not all of my life is a lark;
I do have the means to protect my shares
From those who believe me an easy mark.

My satin glove conceals a fist of steel
With which to smash an opponent’s resolve;
I know some magic…I can either heal,
Or cause an evil one’s will to dissolve.

I’d rather trade tales than swings of a blade,
So I keep my skin thick and temper strong;
Whether a capital or forest glade,
You’ll find me happily singing a song.

When the show’s over, please drop me a coin,
Or bring me a tankard o’er which to nurse;
Perhaps better yet, I’ll simply un-join
Some ungrateful curmudgeon from his purse.

As long as there’s someone to entertain,
You’ll find me with a song or tale to tell
To add to your joy, subtract from your pain,
And lighten your heart so that all is well.

© 2003 by Robert E. Blackwell