A knight brave and loyal
returns from foreign debates
his sword broken, his armor kinked
on a steed with little heart to
bear his master through the gates

What was the battle for?
Was the war truly won?
Many enemies this great sir has made
As many friends lie dead in the dirt
Who will not see another sun

The land is barren that he calls his home
His lady distant and cold
She wants not his arms nor his
lips anymore, nor his returning face
to behold

The fire stays not lit in the hearth
The kindling, though dry
Will not burn, the chilly wind whips
through shutters that will not shut
And he asks himself for what reason
does he bleed? Why do I bleed, oh why?

copyright 2004 by D.A. Chadwick

 

  

 

 

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