Time of Old

“Time of Old”

In lands of oak and stone, along time ago,

Between mountain and sea, as you should well know,

Rode upon stout horses, knights that were quite bold,

Colors bright over maille, their sharp steel swords cold.

Craftsman’s hammer swings - Rings! - working men strong,

Weaver’s fate, tailor’s tale, woman’s living song.

With every story, for heroes’ lives all,

Quests to seek honor true, fight villains who gall.

Stonecutters build straight, sturdy towers of stone,

Memories laid in rows, ancient ghosts’ moan.

Monsters elsewhere, friends here, dragons' blazing fire,

Invaders will burn fast, like death on the pyre.

The whole of this green realm, a castle for kings,

Crashing waves and under sky, a church bell that rings.

Legends of fairy folk, elves of the forest,

And adventure stirs fast, the spirits' unrest.

Poems to thunder’s crack, deep magic abounds,

Nature’s creations rise, as moats that surround.

Marauders raid and burn, people in distress,

Squires making their name, clothed in practical dress.

Rumors whispered often, centaur scholars,

Powerful artifacts, ogre warriors,

Treasures of silver, gold, sleek mermaid maidens,

Seek them all - Glory, too! - fill oxcarts, laden.

Dances of the crane, fires of the phoenix,

Tonight, every night, and five hundred years.

Rising high to the east, the mountains scenic,

Rugged and snowy peaks, home of the seers.

From rivers and streams chill, come wizards of war,

Blue, clear skies far above, fly great rocs that soar.

In groves and stone circles are druids of peace,

Life giving, sweet, hot springs, sheep with golden fleece.

Threats of fierce, brutal trolls, goblins of the caves,

For the unprepared lout, these the death of knaves.

Cliffs over lakes, seeing, grey gargoyles on high,

At the height of this yore, a closing draws nigh.

Years of prosperity, now the knight’s age’d,

Dents in his stout shield formed, his long sword blood-stained.

Enemies emboldened, the good tower falls,

Darkness kills heaven’s light, thus tumble the halls.

Long live the king - someday! Now, the end is here,

No champion takes the field, this world disappears.

-- J.R.H.