PART I

The lone knight rode upon his horse
heading towards the town
A stiff wind cut into his face
while rain was streaming down
It soaked his hair as he sat there
teeth clenched and bone core cold
On his way to **** a man;
A pagan, he was told
It wouldn't be the first one and
it wouldn't be his last
The battle scars could prove that
earned in wars where faith held fast
Where men were sworn in duty
by an oath to live or die
to serve the God Emmanuel
while holding banners high
And the only single function
was to honor and obey
Where word was bond
and kinship strong
unlike it is today
The Truth was all that mattered;
There was little coin to gain
The kings had drained the coffers
and the land was run by Danes
But resolute he stayed his course
and spurred the stallion on
Repeating to himself again,
'Be swift and then be gone'.

PART II

The enemy was in a home
he'd raided day before
He'd chopped the heads off all the boys;
The mother named Lenore
Their father had not been there;
He was plowing in the field
And told his wife that afterwards
he'd miss the evening meal
For he was due in Hertfordshire
to pay the church a tax,
and luckily as fate would have
been spared that steely sax
And for this very reason
all the gore had been for naught
'cause the husband had the only thing
the pagan might have sought
And little did the pagan know
they'd had a teenage girl
who out in back had carried hay
to wrap it up in furls
And when she heard her mother scream
she peeked in through the thatch
and what she saw caused her much grief
while making her to wretch
She ran into the woodlot
with her eyes tear stained and blurred,
knowing it was up to her
that someone would get word
One half mile to the marketplace
to anyone who'd listen,
where monks had been a-bartering
red wine for venison
The teenage girl was on her knees
by Prior Geoffrey
who told the Lector Godwin
who then Father Donnelly;
A man who'd done a favor
for the squire of the knight
who then asked him to ask the knight
if he would come and fight

PART III

And next day the sun had risen
like the day it had before,
and all the blood had nearly dried
upon the earthen floor
But the pagan never noticed
as he kicked an arm away
he just spat a mouthful of disgust
'cause he had overstayed
The only thing that he had found
was over the hearth fire;
A *** of boiling vegetables
mixed in with meager fryer
No ale, nor mead, or even milk
to quench his angry thirst
And as he was about to leave
the knight had beat him first
into the door and without fear
or second contemplation
he jammed his sword into his throat;
An absolute oblation.

Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2012