By the cold, brackish waters, wretched with fog
where the vilest of wind wail wanders around,
there's a dim, dank gloom, looming high on the hill
Our hero, appears, in the gloom of the chill
piercing the mist, with a blade strapped to his breast
As his steed has a thirst, and a moment to rest,
and paws at the earth with a fumbling stance
Giving chance for a glance in the lift of the dew
While his horse takes a nibble, on the stubble of grass
His eyes focus in, with a troubling chance,
a strange cloistered fortress, in the lift of the dew
A brooding old castle.....and the story, ensues.........
A forgotten old castle, with moss covered stones
On the edge of a forest, in the thick of the sound
It is riddled with mystery, not a soul to be found
Yet his curious nature, invites him to prowl
Near the top gabled window, does a wizard look down?
Waiting the chance to foretell, or cast down
dark spells to intruders, of which he is one...
Care not! He is fearless, with courage unbound
With panther feet nimble, not a step to be heard
Will a flash of a sword, find a gallows disturbed
or chains of a dungeon, waiting to fill
with no one the wiser.....no fret from the hill?
The arched bolted doors, have weathered the storms
He carefully knocks, yet the doors guard the lore
Nothing shouts out, not a bell left to chime
So he climbs to a cove, that lies over the door
And into a chamber ....to startle the girl!
She has waited for rescue, since a frightened young child
Her blue eyes are oceans like the sea in the sun
He sweeps off the floor, her delicate frame
and her eyes are so large, he almost falls in
It takes not a word to calm and convince
Together they flee, from this dark prison's cell
And a story book ending,,,,, is the one that I tell
Inspired By Isaiah's Contest: Medaeval Idealism