There is this pretty fair damsel
stuck on a polished rocking chair
in a high-walled castle
she built herself in fear.
Of what, I do not know
and if I knew, I couldn’t tell
for when her charkha chimed,
she wouldn’t let her white knight in –
who stalked with pain plain
along the stone castle’s walls
digging a shadowy grave across the gate
where upon her lifeless eyes could dance
if she ever ventured out.
and so the siege was laid
in life, and in death
the knight in armour greatly grayed
when he was by the body frail,
he stroke his helmet’s beard
for fear of missing out with sleep
if she strolled across the narrow gate.
Stroll she did one faithful night
into the night’s waiting grave
and when his gaze she did not meet
her neck, she snapped into the bone.
Brave and patient knight was doomed
stroking his helmet’s beard, he did
for where he felt his head should lie
was a marble tombstone laid.
His last, he did not breathe
before fair damsel rode her luck
into the night of her dreams
as brave knight wandered gravely off.
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