A knight is a man with his swords and his shields!
Mayhaps two swords, he bears them in fields.
Clothed all in armour from tip to his toe,
He stands quite ready to slay the foe.

His foe is aloft: a prey of thick sinew!
Doth cleave the beast the man did right through.
So simple the foe of flesh and of blood,
less so with the words coloured mud.

When he returned to his lord that day,
He knelt and he sang and so did he pray.
"Good Lord, I ask you grant me your boon"
Said Lord, "I may grant it, but not yet so soon".

And so he spoke, so the knight knew true:
For no Lord of the land would lie he knew.

So he cleaved and he fought and he slew the foes men,
His deeds were many, all knew that then.
He came again once more to the Lord's castle
and knelt to ask boon once more, as a vassal.

But the Lord did wroth and rage quite much.
"Whom are you to question me such?",
"I am the Lord of this land and beyond reproach!"
"Ask again of your boon and my reign you encroach"

And so the Knight's head was dashed on the rocks,
Blood did weep from his helm to his socks.
None weep for the Knight in the light of dawn,
For fear, or mayhaps faith for the Lord they did fawn.

Matters it not that the Lord's vault was bereft,
Perhaps it was filled with riches in heft.
Matters it more that no Lord would lie,
And thinking this false is cause to so die.





Penned by my hand on the 12th of Mayan, in the year 622 AF.