Good Knight
By H.J. Cruz
Please mum, give up the good knights tale,
I’ll record on parchment wit quill O-quail.
Oh lad not again, my bleeding heart’s yet to mend.
Yes mum once again, for the sake of a scriveners pen!
The silver haired widow stooped over her stew,
Eyes glazed over whilst stirring her brew.
A crackling hearth with fire untamed,
With ladle to lips her memories came.
One frosty morn fields shrouded in mist
A rider appeared on crusade to enlist,
Pa-pa at the ready now greeted with scythe
A weary young knight who called himself Seth.
As I peered from the loft upon ebony steed
The noble atop offered silver for feed,
In a flurry I dressed with the prowess of youth
Lest he gaze upon this maiden uncouth.
As Pa-pa took the stallion to stable
He yelled orders to come set the table,
A knock at the door caused me to cringe
My hair was a nest, a deviless singe.
A rap at the door; a saddle nosed wench,
I wondered what thirst I posed to quench,
The door now swung open, oh what a sight
Shrouded in mud; mailed covered might.
With helmet in hand he greeted with bow,
The stench could stampede even our cow.
Weapons outside while I fetch a pale.
Not to trouble my lady, I’d rather have ale.
Aye,
Ale for the toil and a pale for the soil,
Separate the prince from the peat, then you’ll eat!
Forgive me; I have been long on the road,
Sleeping in thickets amongst vermin and toad.
Seated now slurping soup of venison,
Heretofore, heedless prime for Saracens,
Shalt I quest aft blood royals imagination,
An ale pouring stoop brandishing just compensation.
With boiled-brain eyes he beseechingly checked
Thine wholesome appendages, the alabaster neck,
His matted, haughty head now in wretched swain
For sensuous lips, saphire eyes cloaked in crimson mane.
Pa-pa, do come to aid our young lord, I say
He’s landed face first in his ill-gotten soup for pay,
Whilst woefully quick to remove to a trestle flock bed,
Exclaims; thou canst afford rent iffen he’s found dead.
Now then let he be still with slumber,
A gallant Knights snore tears oak to lumber,
I’ll naught furget the look upon our squire
The bed she gave weigh now kindling for fire.
Yet it never dawned on our good knight!
To be continued…
Copyright
H.J. Cruz
3/08
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Love your style H J
Glad you are back, recharged and ready to go wild! I see...
Write On!
Warmest Blessings and Inner Peace, Warrior Purple PaSsion Lady -She-xoooo
STay Positive!
Love the vividness and imagery
Anxiously awaiting continuation!
Peace Love and hugssss....Morning Star
Be always safe,
Karen
Fee
Appreciatively,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
But, one can't just start a story and let the readers hanging like wet blankets in the wind...how many girls the dude in the white horse gets??????????????????
Georg
Warmly,
Sage
Enjoyed and delightful.
Good voice - I know that was some work.
~D.