Poet of the Month at Poetry for Thought

September 2000

Love Lost, Regained Through Death In Spite

Now lonely and bereft of love I stood,

In thought among the moors at edge of wood.

My forlorn sigh burst full upon the air,

To mourn the loss of my dear lady fair.

She gave me leave to kiss her glovéd hand.

In time, we spent our lust upon the sand,

And, arm in arm atop the stony tower,

We pledged to love forever in that hour.

My lady was betrothéd to a boor

Whose love was base and sordidly impure.

I did impart a challenge to a duel,

Alas, but fate decided to be cruel.

My challenge I dictated to a scribe

Who, troubled, chose some wording to proscribe

And handed me a document not mine,

The gist of which invited one to dine.

I placed the note in care of one poor clerk

Who gave it to the knave just after dark.

And when the paper's pointless words were read,

The boor discerned a plot 'mid what was said.

He sent his men to query all they'd see

And learned of his fiancée's love for me.

Instead of meeting on the dueling field,

He chose instead to hie unto the weald.

He persecuted cruelly there my sweet

Until she did confess her sly deceit.

And cheating me of chances to oppose,

He brutally did slay my dearest rose.

His followers pursued me hastily

But lost me on the Isle of Anglesey.

I ran and crawled and fell amid the moors,

And suffered woe the like no man endures.

And now I see the troupe arrayed just there,

All mounted, armed, and easing my despair.

For soon, I'll join my lady 'yond the grave

And thus rejoin the love lost to the knave.

By Brian Barney

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