They sat, huddled in the shelter of knees,
wrapped in the blackness of night;
warmed by the kettle's fire.
The rise and fall of voices
full of tales and minstrels tunes,
soothed the gathering.
Mist rose from the surface of the pond.
Fireflies crowned the lover's heads.
Some men stood like shields
behind arched backs of their ladies.
Some cradled dear ones
between their armored thighs.
Heads lolled as strands of silken hair,
was drawn between calloused fingers
which only hours before had held the sword.
Upturned faces drenched in the red-gold of the fire,
revealed china-blue eyes of Viking descent.
And each weary warrior revisited in tale,
the halls of Beowulf and the dream of Camelot
for the day was meant for war but the night was
a stage set for love and lovers.