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There upon the courtship,
proclaimed, a sorrowful
spirit hearkened upon 
this ballad of misery
and burden.  For her
grief and unrelished
despair, the angels
of Michael, our saintly divine,
answered, whil'st upon 
the hour of marriage royal,
an unwanted surprise,
a battle declared, as the 
essence of Faith
exuberated.
This day of celebration,
joyous, the sun's vibrance
a galliant shiny array
of angelic symphony.
The court's jester prepared
daintfully as the council
gathered for the wedding
and celebration.
Crowds upon crowds 
of commons and 
majestic royals gathered 
in anticipation, for 
a marriage vow of 
royal to peasant a 
spleen for gossip.
Geinere's beauty and spirit
made so ever-beautiful
and bountiful, her Magdalenic
passion, though hidden
from the stage, her garden
of love like no other
Atlantis.  This ballad
of acceptance Cherubic
as the maiden Geinere
was given away.  The 
gathered pupils from 
near and far, sighted
tears of admiration 
and also of disbelief.

The King. . . his pious
disobediences, very kept
subtle, for betrayal's
embrace, here to far,
loomed as an ominous
hawk awaits its 
swoop.  As the candles 
of the holy triad were
lit, joyous spirit
and unition embarked,
as tragedy did fall upon 
this royal majestic whim.
A messenger, grief
stricken, hence
matters slowly, a 
voice to the King.

"My King, this glorious
day made tragic,
for our kingdom under seige
soon, a chance to the North."
"Speakest thou, this
action made, a declaration
of war, for no mercies
we have, can'st  determine
our strategic foe."  
The King's voice grave with 
anger and unsuspected
turmoil.  A call to the 
Prince, oh the mighty
heavens did begin to
crash.  Bolts of resilience
and vigor shot from 
the oncoming enthralls
of vengeance. 
"Messenger, retrieve 
the preparations, summon
forth our army at 
once.  My son!"
Trumpets blew, as 
alarm and anxiety
did ensue, instilling
paramount fear, though
only matched by the 
mighty holds of fate.
"My Prince, calmest be,
our sudden birth of 
unknowing, pray we share
our time spent precious,
for a call to arms for
certain."  Geinere, her demeanor
shaken, her Goddess crying
out as the premonitions
of glorious battle, and dying
victory echoed throughout.
"My love, I regret these 
tragic circumstances,
our labors, pray not 
lost to this ardorous
hell that has come upon us."
The king speaking,
"my Prince, my son, I will 
await these temptations of
Belial, ever so gracefully
with the fullest respects,
yours to mine."
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