Once upon a time and long ago,
a storyteller roamed the countryside.
He was a minstrel, playing a muscial
instrument. Struming romantic
poetry to his heart's content.
He would sing of beautiful
young maidens and brave young knights.
The slayers of firey dragons to
their lady fairs delights.
But alas not the poor dragons,
who perished from off
the face of the earth.
They would sing of dreams
of deeds of bravery
in faraway times and lands.
The brave young knights
would wage wars to
merely win a maiden's hand
in marriage.
But alack what of a poor
young man who was merely a yoeman?
Winning a young lady in waiting's
hand was beyond his reach and status
in life. One day a young maid
smiled at him, and he kissed her hand.
They pledged their eternal love,
and fled in the darkness of the night.
Her father marshalled his forces,
and pursued the young lovers.
He pierced the young yoeman's heart
wiwith his sword. His blood gushed
freely from his pierced heart.
The young maiden fell upon
his breast. And then with her
own hand, withdrew a small
maiden's knife, and pierced
her sorrowful heart.
The angles in heaven
mourned the day of
the young lover's tragic
death. The spirits of
the young lovers
walk the face of the earth.
Never finding rest by
either nightime or daylight!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem