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Poem

In the willow woods, by a shady tree
there resides a secret mystery
By a patch of moss, under lock and key
it’s shrouded in deep history
In a rusted box, with a hidden drawer
deep in the earth of the forest floor
there exists the ring steeped in folk lore
which only one man has worn before
Through the frozen snow, through the winter gray
he rode his horse on his wedding day
he kissed his bride and then turned to pray
while her life in an instant slipped away
In the willow woods, through the covered leaves
there existed a band of drunken thieves
Their arrows dipped in poison bereaved
and pierced the heart of the maiden that eve.
The ring around his finger quickly burned
with a guttural scream he left her and turned
toward the raid on the men who his recompense earned
with an anger of prophets his soul wrenched and yearned
Alone in the aftermath forever more
the ring from his finger he savagely tore
and rode to the willow woods ancient shore
to become the legends of old folklore.

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