The Wraith - Poem by George Howard
She sat in the corner, as still as she could.
Darkness crept around her. Stillness in the wood.
Her eyes opened wide, as an eerie scream she heard.
Was it a badger, a fox, a rabbit or a bird?
The moon began its journey, ‘cross the ink black sky.
Silver beams slicing through, as the wolf bayed its cry.
Not a mortal man stirred as the blackness fell again.
Twas a night for foolish souls, not for brave young men.
He hacked away the undergrowth, blade gleaming in the waxing.
He fought through the Bramble, body torn, his labours taxing.
His honour, he stood on, by word and deed,
His challenge, ’ The maiden must be freed’.
The King had set this terrible task.
And for help, he knew, He could not ask.
His only friends, his strength, his sword.
To God with valour, he gave his word.
He would not rest. Not day nor night.
He’d slay the dragon, the demon. With all his might
And when his body cried ‘stay man stay! ’
He’d forge on forward, another day.
This brave soul now almost beaten and broke.
Peered through the mire, the gloom and the smoke.
His eye caught the movement, surging forward with mite.
He reached the tree base, “My horse for a light! ”
Calling out softly, “My lady, come forth”
“For I’m here to save you. For all I am worth! ”
He laid down his weapon, reached his hand in good faith.
A mistake, his heart torn asunder by the terrible Wraith!
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