Primrose Pete

There he sat

All dark unsaddled

Brains quite addled

From the blow

Brigands laughing

All about him

There to clout him

Should he run

From his good eye

Squinting sneaky

Peeking out

From swollen brow

Primrose Pete

Considered options

Acquiesce

Or fight or flee

Counting up

The five marauders

Such close quarters

Peter smiled

In a wink

The first two fell

Hellbound from

Pete's shining blade

One was cut

From prow-to-keel

Didn't feel

The lightening slash

Two was dead but

Still a-stagger

From Pete's dagger

Through the throat

Pete then turned

His one good eye

Upon the three

Left standing there

"Knock ME from

My gentle ride!"

He chided them

And took a step

In a flash

The third man died

His manhood hung

From Peter's blade

Number four

Jumped up in-close

They danced a rosy

Final step

"One last waltz"

Said Primrose Pete

And short and sweet

The blood ran hot

Last of all

The Highwaymen

The fifth of five

The last alive

A tall man

Taller quite than most

With ghostly eyes

And hammer hands

A man who felt

That pain was fun

This one-on-one

Was just a tryst

So they stood there

Eying up

While trying not

To give a tell

Of their planned

Last brave attack

While Pete held back

To catch a breath

All at once

The fight was on

That bloodied lawn

Would find no peace

Both men fought

With all their might

From Noon til Night

On into dark

No Moon sang

The stars shone mute

A suit of cloud

Hung o'er the fray

Blood and dark

With ought a sound

Save the pounding

Steel on steel

Come the Sun

There on that field

Without yield

For Honor's sake

Cut for cut

Both men held true

And on into

A second night

A third then

Into a fourth

A fifth of course

They battled on

It's said that

Both men died that day

T'was slay for slay

Though neither fell

He fights on

Old Primrose Pete

His ghosted feet

Still dancing true

With his blade

Of shadow pure

Against a worried

******* dark

And it's said

On summer nights

When the wind

Is right and odd

One can hear

Old Pete's mare

Out there braying

On the moor

And beneath

The old hag's whinny

If you skinny

Up your ear

You can catch

Old Primrose Pete

Sweetly dancing

With his sword.

Request permission to use this poem

Hello PoetryVoting