The Quest

A man and his
sword and his
sworn word he
hands the steel and
draws it ringing,
strokes the mane of his
charger and puts his
mail on with deliberation
piece by gleaming
piece slotted into
leathern hauberk and
silence at its ease - there were
candles there, there were
courtiers ranged in
silken lines and
silence lives - 1 saw him
mount the beast and
gentle stirrups digging
moved off
slowly in the snow, the
torches in the trees
showed him the way
through and the
twitching of the horse's
tail disappeared there, his
gleaming back
silent in goodbye -
that was the
last we saw of him, we
waited long to hear
the outcome
but no word rode
the wind to
reach our ears with
wealth of news  - our
weave their looms
and picture him
his dreaming back
his great white steed
and the silent torches
flaming amid the trees.
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