Armour: Another Thing You Can'T Take With You Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

For years the dead knight's armour drapes the walls,
like needy lover wanting force of flesh.
Dawn's light hues his helm- strung in the long hush
of neglect - glares steel crimson with glory
and silver-sheens the spider's gossamer;
wraps- grasps with glimmers- grip of knight's gauntlets.
The morning's bright shield, now raised, finds late mouse
skimming the greaves, all arrow for its hole;
so safely housed near this vast sentinel!
Here, ruin! full piercing in the breastplate;
and there, clinging like vault rust, some petals
his lost love flung with hope on his last day....


For years the dead knight's armour drapes the walls,
like needy lover wanting force of flesh.
Dawn's light hues his helm- strung in the long hush
of neglect - burns steel crimson with glory
and silver-sheens the spider's gossamer;
wraps- grasps with glimmers- grip of knight's gauntlets.
Old morning's bright shield, now raised, finds late mouse
skimming the greaves, all arrow for its hole;
so safely housed near this vast sentinel!
Here, ruin! wide piercing in the breastplate;
and there, clinging like vault rust, some petals
his lost love flung with hope on his last day....