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A masquerade ball was in full concert when
A charming young man stepped in

He bore a green tunic with gold trim
Mask devilish with a wry grin

His mask bore five feathers atop his brow
In full view of the whole of the crowd

The music stopped and no servant bore his name
No mark of royalty or note of fame

Who is this man whispers a girl
A mystery man, man of the world

His eyes a radiant green breaching the mask
The music starts with a nod no questions asked

His manner quite and shy though confident
Both hands resting behind his torso defiant

Utterly refusing any hand placed before him
A mission is what makes him grim

One girl and only one is his treasured fox
She is sitting at a table near the clocks

A common girl young enough for school
A starving pain runs through him almost cruel

A slow melody is played by the maestro
The gentleman gaze at him to and fro

A hand his placed before her tired eyes
Shear delightful sounds as she cries 

An angry man in a red mask stalks toward them
When an older woman steps in front of him

“Let them go” She says
“Why should I” eyes furiously red

To the center of the dancing floor they stroll
The beat picks up with a flick from maestro

Soft beats sound as they come together
Then silence…..weightless like a feather

A dazzling dance wows the place
Enough so to put awe on each face

After the last step and last beat coincide 
Their masks come up no more reason to hide

Their lips meet and cheers break out
Like those at a fight awaiting the bout

The commotion was too much for the old man
He stumbled forward to greet the brigand

A chase commenced with the house guards
Even some of the house bards
 
The Youngman fell and was detained quickly
Then a sound arose from the courtyard sickly

The sound of a sword piercing flesh
A pool of blood and a mess

Unveiling his mask bore only a lad
At this the old man felt sad

The young girl never knew what became of him
Her father detailed his absence to be of a decided whim

In reality he survived after his body was left for dead
A long fever and a month in bed

A preacher picked him up and healed his impaled breast
With medicine and well needed rest

He awoke later to a dream of his lady fair 
When he smelt the perfume of roses in the air

A second chance the preacher stated 
Yes it was not to be he debated

Now he is an old man sitting and writing this tale
Letting my grandson know not to bail

For I will leave it in my will for his eyes only!
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