An owl fringed in gloom.
Rising foam that loomed
From a little grove in the clearing,
To the path of love not war
Where several natives prepared an alter,
Hoping for a miracle of one.
A little bell tinkled
To announce the summons,
And the florescent cloud dissipated.
To reveal a beautiful warrior garbed in attire,
That told of folklore and fate.
He fought for honor,
In a time that disgraced
His mark of difference from the others.
A gorgeous Knight,
As dark as it’s light
With eyes reminiscent of golden coins.
In his time, he left behind
A shrine to his greatness, his strength.
For marching onto Rome,
With a small band of comrades
To revenge the murder of his people.
Bands of steel, surrounded his well-honed body,
Shut away in a cell, no day no night.
To be tortured and beaten
Sport for the rich, that was his end.
Freed from the horror,
His mentor stood in place of him,
To behold the glory of his name.
His father was a lord, he’d discovered
A Roman he was born to abhor.
He asked him for a weapon, and a cup of night wine,
Blessed and divined by the Druids.
Gaul that he was he found himself,
In a place so far gone from the world he was born.
With cars, and planes that scaled the skies,
Moving pictures and neon signs.
There he found his Lady Love,
Destined for him. They fit like a glove.
He sold his gold, became land rich,
Enabling him to hold his own. In the land of the free.
A protector. A provider. A lover. A suitor.
Now he wanted the ultimate - A marriage cup for two.
To share his life with the only woman
Who taught him love rules.
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