Weary traveller bows his head,
Weighted down by limbs of lead.
Drained by trial of hero's quest,
Searching for a place to rest.

Starlight shines in frosty sky,
Crescent moon is rising high.
Sleepless nights now take their toll
As bitter cold invades his soul.

Then he sees a distant light
Glowing in the waning night.
Drawing strength from deep inside
He spurs his steed to speed her stride.

Snow clad branches bar his way,
A crystal maze at breaking day.
Dawn awakes and mocks the sight
Of battle worn and broken knight.

Thinking he can take no more
He stumbles on an open door,
A wayside inn with hanging board,
Proclaiming it, "The Maid and Lord."

He steps inside with shaking knees,
Cannot believe the sight he sees.
A vision caught in sunlight's beam,
A miracle, a hope, a dream.

Her milk white hair flows down her back,
Her gaze impales him on a rack
Of deep desire, burning fire.
His heartbeat threatens to expire.

My dear, sweet lord, I am the maid
Whom destiny has long since bade
To open up her heart and mind
To such a knight, so brave, so kind.

He takes her hand and so is lead
Into her soft and downy bed.
Her lips meet his in passion's grip,
Sweet nectar that is his to sip.

His hands explore her naked skin,
Fierce flames igniting deep within.
She spreads her thighs and welcomes him
To fill her body to the brim.

Hot seed spurts forth from fevered loin
As fated, star-crossed lovers join.
Their cries entwine and fill the air
Around bold knight and maiden fair.

A figure lies in deadly night
Its skin a pale and deathly white.
Our valiant, Godforsaken, knight
Who failed to win the final fight.

His vision fades as facts invade,
No welcome inn, no yearning maid,
Just ice cold loss and heartless death,
Exulting at his final breath.

Copyright © 2002-2003 Lynne den Hartog. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.