A-Spread Th' Cloaked, Coated Writhe... Poem by Michael Gale

A-spread th' cloaked coated writhe...
For thy Lady, Fair the mine.

She crossed the puddles wettest lands...
Only by my trusted hands.

I spread my coat for her to lift on over...
One Fall-Left out October.

Her feet did not to watered land...
To watered land, as not of sand.

Chivalry not be dead of last...
Dead of naught, thy tiny past.

Passed in eons and centuries past...
Begone thy days of ever last.

Ever last of one so faint....
Never be, another Saint.