A cry, which spears the starless night,
Proclaims that monstrous horde.
Awake, the squire in spring of youth
For maiden he adored.
He saw her once atop the wall
Locks shining in the sun.
Her windswept veil entrapped his feet,
Favor he can’t outrun.
Craving her warm embrace, he stirs
Lone guide dim lantern’s light.
Once free, he breathes a solemn oath,
“I prove myself this night.”
He arms himself in master’s plate
And wakes the nag from rest.
He grabs one tool, the weighted lance,
And tucks the veil to breast.
Like player presents himself to stage,
He stops her munching hay
To get upon that steed so grand
And trot into the fray.
The earth, she spews those screaming lumps
As arrows fill the sky.
He bounces toward them and hurls
The lance with soundless cry.
The weight, it drags him down to ground.
Old mare takes flight in fright.
Resounding clatter heard by all,
He crawls to set things right.
“Foul beast!” he halts, with dirk held high,
To find mere human tears
That rain atop the lance stuck fast.
Hands shake unmasking fears.
His helm askew, the squire perceives
Vile hoofbeats drawing near.
He claws at broken lance in vain.
Foe swings, no time to fear.
Dark fades, revealing bloody light.
From flesh must ghost depart.
The sun’s embrace wraps round freed souls
To light new course they chart.
Men pluck at empty corpses found
Like reapers harvest grain.
Their fingers snatch all spoils in sight
Dulled blades and ornate chain.
These men of fortune heard a tale.
Fight done they seek that lord,
Whose daughter is beset by woe,
To trade wares for reward.
“A gift we have, if price is right,
To honor maid so fair,
And forge a beauty within her,
To which none can compare.”
“This lad, of age with thine fair maid,
Hath met defeat, we fear.”
They lift aloft the young boy’s head
Displaying teeth with cheer.
Enraged, the lord draws forth his sword,
“You dare give such a slight!”
Beyond the wall, he hopes to grant
These vultures a swift flight.
Young maid appears to stop her lord.
“What good fortune!” she cries,
Her mouth, agape in gruesome grin,
Shows all just where rot lies.
The smith constructs a smile for her.
Squire keeps, in death, his oath
To guard the beauty of that maid
Until time claims them both.
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