Alistair Muir

Alistair Muir Poems

The Best Poem Of Alistair Muir

A Knight Out

A Knight Out



So tired the old fool wanders to the fire,
In jest to self does think that he'll expire,
From in the Tavern ribald songs are sung,
It matters not the words or even tongue;
The battle won, the victors drink their fill,
A brutal end for those who came to kill,
But at the end of such a slaughter here,
Did she a thing of wonder hence appear;

Her name was Red, her hair a russet drape,
Which framed her face a lustrous velvet cape,
A body that had many soldiers' hearts,
Was well-defined, exposed in many parts;
But more than this she had a pleasant air,
No qualms or fears but clear that she did care,
It touched a nerve within the old Knight's soul,
Itself a nugget cold and made of coal;

How unexpected, strange the smile he wore,
Unknown to those who knew him in the war,
Had lost he, wife, to some rebellion sword,
Condemning him to vengeance on the sward;
But such as she would soothe the very beast,
Allowing partner to review the feast,
For she a temple needed to be praised,
Or even have her flag on high upraised;

Aye such a lass a Knight might want to take,
To quench the thirst of love and thus to slake,
But she has fire and would be her own soul,
Not chattel, wife or someone to cajole;
He viewed his old tired body with regret,
Of times in love he did but most forget,
But knew he that at heart still beat a Knight,
And try he would with Red this very night.

Alistair Muir 2016

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