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Quiet stands the castle,
In this, Death’s hour.
Dragons, allies,
Line the wall,
The proceedings they watch,
As the King says his good-bye’s.
On the pyre lay the hero,
The fire, he waits
For it to release his soul.
But the King waits, still to speak.
Wrought over by emotions,
To the dragons he looks,
For the inspiration he seeks.
The dragons nod their heads,
The Kings time this is,
And the one on the pyre.
“Loved one’s, friends,”
His voice, it echoes through the crowd
“By my life
“By my power,
“And by my sword.
“I grant this brave one a name,
“An honorable name,
“A knights name.”
His great sword,
He does pass,
Over the body of the other.
“His life he gave,
“His most precious possession.
“An arrow he took,
“From an assassins bow,
“As a human shield,
“To save insignificant me,
“Me…your humble servant,
“Me…you’re elected King.
“May God rest his soul,
“And grant him peace
“For the life he gave,
“For me, his friend.”
A torch he grabs,
And to the pyre it’s placed,
As the dragons lift their cries,
To the night sky,
And as the King ads his tears,
To the ground with all the others.
The pyre erupts with flames,
Taking the spirit,
Of the hero,
The knight,
The King own son.
The End
Copyright February 2001 by Christopher J. Thomasson
