Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2020
They are defeated, crushed in a rout,
But let them not die out,
Let us lift this quarantine,
So this sad looking boy will dream,
For whenย the girls dance to the new moon,
Let them jump out and capture wives,
For who will we rule when the moon resumes?
Depressed lads?
Warriors remembering the killing fields?
lying about as if carried home on shields.

Let the men see the maidens dance,
caressing the night with their hands,
barefoot over calm cool dirt,
swirling their home spun skirt,
singing in octaves we have not,
commemorating how hard we fought.

But Sir, the boy won't go,
His father vanished before the war took hold,
His mother lost her beauty from a soul ice cold,
She dances alone and only to revenge,
In her eyes are the killing fields of men.

Nay, you princes in charge of this city--
Apprentice the lad close to our maidens!
Let him see the beauty of our ladies-in-waiting,
And let the most beautiful young girl see--
How this lad does in order taking,
For I think she will be well pleased,
and he with her.

Sir we have done as you commanded,
Our defeated foes are happy and candid,
And the boy's countenance has changed,
Nervous aloofnessย ย is all it contains.

Very good, he has seen her--
The fellow orphan I presume,
Who amongst dancing
Somberly walks to the new moon.
It is good, for she is tough,
And has seen he is not rude.

Sir, tis the night,
All the men but the boy--
Look forward to this fight,
For the girl and boy are of the same size,
And to carry her off will be a feat of might.

Nonsense, my paige carries double his weight,
As long as one carries love and faith.

Look! the maidens are arm and arm,
The girl walks alone,
Look, the boy has seen how the moonlight on her face has shown,
All have lustrous sheen with olive oil,
But her natural brown hair is his native soil.

Blow the trump, let the men surprise their wives,
But let us watch the lad, he is smitten
Even though she is wan,
All dance barefoot, she trods on.

The men run off under the moon and in laugh,
While the women either laugh or slap.

The boy approaches, the maiden awaits,
Then she grabs him by the throat and kisses his face,
He tries to carry her
Fumblin with nervous touching,
In pale moonlight highly blushing,
He tries to carry her, she tries to carry him,
They fall down a hill when the moon goes dim,

Dedication from him, laughter from her,
Cheers from the knights, " Well done Sir."
Keith J Collard
Written by
Keith J Collard  39/M/Dedham, MA
(39/M/Dedham, MA)   
155
   Keith J Collard
Please log in to view and add comments on poems