In early medieval France
The age of the Viking prevailed
Arriving off coast of Aquitaine
from Scandinavia sailed
This historic age burnt brightly
In 799 ships arrived
breaching shores destined as Normandy
A norsemans dream contrived
A profile in history of Rollo
A man exiled sword for hire
Of such height and breadth standing well above
The hordes he would come to acquire
Known as Rollo the walker
As no steed could bare his mount
Striding to navigate siege after siege
As history will recount
Normandy land of the North men
Francia would opt to cede
As conditions drawn up over council fires
Complete with mutton and mead
They must embrace the life of Christ
leave that which is Pagan behind
Rollo agreed they could do this yet
there was one thing he did mind
required to kiss the foot of the king
In subjugation to show
He replied to no man will I thus defer
to my honor render such blow
One of his men was instructed
to take this act as his own
Jerking the kings foot up to his mouth
rolling him off of his throne
A hearty laugh was had by all
Except the king of course
by the man who led an army
Without courtesy of a horse
The Tragic Story of Rosamund Clifford
By some urge to learn more, beckoned,
I read up the life of Henry the Second.
With Thomas Becket he picked a bone.
This well known fact I'll leave alone.
Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine
became his wife and brought much gain,
but in one matter not enough.
The lack was relieved by a piece of fluff.
In charm and beauty sans pareille
was Rosamund, a bloom in May.
Lest her appearance eyebrows raise
he hid his love in a secret maze,
Or so he thought but his wife got wind
that he and someone else had sinned.
Thus it was that the wily queen
found her way to the hideaway scene.
"By dagger or poison, take your choice,"
said the queen with rasping voice.
No true event but a pure invention
was this encounter, let me mention.
To Hereford this rose they sent
there in a convent to repent.
Still young and fair, alas she died.
For shame once more, she had to hide.
Far from any royal palace
in stone were written words of malice:
"In life her scent was sweet to smell,
but not so now, the truth to tell."
Hic jacet in tumba Rosamundi non Rosamunda, non redolet sed olet, quae redolere solet.