Monday, April 3, 2017

Lost Tales

Gone are the chivalrous courtesans
Gone are the heralds of old
They have flown on the cold winds of intellect
As the new age of prophets fortold

Lost is the sweet wine of romance
Lost are the banquets of fable
They are swept in the trash heap of progress
As a new meal is brought to the table

Deep is the well of antiquity
Deep are the waters, and cold
Bereft from the fires that warm them
Stagnant and layered with mold

The knights in their armor have vanished
The ladies who wait are all gone
They silently watch from their paintings
And echo their words in our songs.

Alison Day