A poem about a courtier lady and a violinist

Maestro
Sara L. Russell 21:01, 02/02/2006

Andante he plays, with a bittersweet air,
With his pale features drawn in ethereal joy,
With sunlight from her window to halo his hair;
He's a favourite musician within her employ.

"Mareschal, Mareschal, lay down your bow,
Lay your instrument down in its casket of teak,
For your lips hold the melody mine thirst to know
And your delicate bowmanship renders me weak."

Monsieur Mareschal smiles, continues his tune
Though the lady's entreaties still beckon him on
And his violin sings of a full hunter's moon
Which the lovers of old spent their wishes upon.

"Mareschal, Mareschal, lay down your bow,
Hither now, let me savour your kisses like wine,
Like such nectar as only Eros may bestow,
Bring your tall, slender body to cleave unto mine."

As his notes start to falter, his heart speeds to race,
He is closing his eyes as she's bolting the door,
Sets his instrument carefully down in its case,
Then shirt follows overcoat onto the floor.

"Mareschal!" over and over, she cries,
As they writhe by the hearth of her bedchamber's fire,
Both lost to the passions that flutter their eyes,
As mistress of loves claims maestro of desire.