The Minstrel
The minstrel with his lute so bright,
Beneath the moon’s pale, silver light,
Did weave a tale of love and woe,
A melody that hearts would know.
With nimble fingers, strings he'd strike,
Each note a pearl, each chord a hike,
Through valleys deep and mountains high,
Where heroes fought and lovers sighed.
A maiden fair, with eyes of blue,
A knight so bold, brave and true,
Their love a flame, so bright and strong,
But fate's cruel hand did them prolong.
He sang of battles, fierce and grand,
Of dragons slain, by hero's hand,
Of castles tall and moors so wide,
Where secrets hid, and dangers lied.
The minstrel's voice, a haunting sound,
As shadows danced and stars spun 'round,
His songs of love and loss did flow,
A tapestry of joy and woe.
And when the dawn began to break,
And shadows fled, for morning’s sake,
The minstrel left, his work complete,
His music stilled; his story sweet.
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