Fantastically, verse decrees: Yee scribe, share.
I take its council; I'm no longer alone
as I go back, back, to the Medieval Faire
with a modern Mystic who grins at thrones,
melts frosty cones. All that is lovely glitters
about her, in word, deed and spark of eye.
We joist in play, make mirth, and twitters
fly from two lost in the far of by and by.
Yah, we toy with dreams and dismiss regret,
for a Rose hath outwitted Robin of Hood,
and brave lady-knights join prancing pirates
with nary a query whether they should.
Modestly, she places the arrow in bow,
takes aims for a heart, then sets it aglow.
*For our own and only Mystic Rose, who write from the heart and for the heart.
(One day we must do lunch! Perhaps, meet at the A.G.O. and write side by side...;D
*I'll be posting a blog about this poem, its word choice but not until tomorrow night,
as Gail's blog is next and I don't want to over-blog ...