The Messenger
"So," he asked, as if he knew,
"What story do you bring?
Across the miles you've brought a tale,
I'll hear your song, now sing."
Indeed, across the miles he'd come,
Adventures braved, unsurpassed.
An audience with the King, he'd sought,
His story he'd tell, at the last.
At the King he looked, across his hall,
He gazed and gaped in awe.
Composure, though, is what he'd need
To pass news of the marching war.
Impatient now, had become Our Liege.
"What story do you bring?
If, perhaps, we take your tongue,
How then, boy, will you sing?"
He knew he'd gained the good King's wrath,
Exactly what he'd dreaded, and,
When his tale was done and told,
Neck on the block, beheaded.
But, one thing we know, the King was kind,
Though sometimes prone to ire, and
When the tale was told and done,
He said, "Boy, feed the fire."
"An honour this is, indeed, My Lord,
A day I'll long ere remember,
That I did fuel the Good King's hearth,
And bring forth a blaze from embers."
This must confirm, for all to see,
The King's kind and goodly heart.
Remember, though, if vexed at all,
His anger's a poison dart.
The orders were sent, the King's High Command.
"A feast we'll have for the victory to be."
The orders received, the boy was soon found.
Baked Messenger for tea.
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