By THLaird Colyne Stewart, June AS 50 (2015)
A squire to the tourney went,
Though arm was sore and élan spent,
For king had called for all to fight,
To show their strength and skill and might.
With token from his love, his life,
The squire went to tourney’s strife.
Long was the list of honoured foes
All blessing ‘round with mighty blows;
The squire found it hard to rise
But fought on with his trembling thighs;
The love of combat, love of king,
The love of household, all these things,
But most of all for love of her
His one true love was vigour’s spur.
‘Til finally, heralds halt the duels,
Award to winners sparkling jewels;
He, with few vic’tries to his name,
Before his lover kneels in shame,
And tries to hand her favour back,
With fingers numb and hanging slack;
She cups his face, he did her well,
For even spent he stayed the swell
Of combat, fought on, did not quit,
Earned her respect with every hit,
Squire, though victor next to none,
Then knew that he had truly won.
