The Lady and The Steed

Once upon a time, or so the story goes,
a Lady walked a dreamland filled with light.
Unicorns and elves, sweet scent of dew kissed rose
silver'd moon and stars caressed the night.

She trod the many paths of gardens that she made,
and gently touched the bud of ev'ry flower.
Sweet singing lullaby brought sun to deepest glade,
her sometimes tears of sadness, gentle shower.

A world of crystal dreams to hold a woman's heart,
a place to rest from all the loneliness.
She waited for the knight she drew within her art
to touch her life and fill the emptiness.

And as the story goes, a Knight came riding through,
then stopped to wander gardens that he saw,
and in the forest glade 'neath misty morning dew
the Lady seemed a vision Fates might draw.

Quick stepping from the path he walked to where she stood,
a finger on her cheek that made her blush.
And there upon his steed they wandered silent wood,
her joy sung out in trilling of the Thrush.

Gentle were the words that soothed away her fear,
and let her give her heart to him in trust.
Then, with a heart-filled care he taught her soul to hear
their song of passion, tenderness and lust.

But, only in her dreams could Lady have her Knight,
and be the woman fate said she should be,
a soul tied by a bond the Lady couldn't fight
to a man who couldn't give reality.

He whispered all his love for the woman who had lived
in fantasy that seemed to have no end.
"I promise from my heart all the care I have to give
and my everlasting loving as your friend."

The Lady turned once more to a dreamland now grown dim,
and wrapped herself in mem'ries they had shared,
then rested in the heart of the friend she had in him,
with silent tears for journeys never fared.

And here the tale would end, if fairytale it were,
the mixture of sweet sadness as its art.
But, every night he passed and never spoke to her,
each silent moment knife that tore her heart.

Shadows filled her days in the garden where she knelt,
and prayed in time her need for him would end,
yet, tended one last flower that held the hope she felt,
and waited for the promise of her friend.

One day she heard a sound, soft hoof beats drawing near;
the wait was worth the thousand tears she'd cried.
But no one rode the steed, eyes moist as if with tears
he knelt for her to take one final ride.

And when the Knight returned for the love he had begun,
dead stillness filled the glades where soul was freed.
The garden bloomed no more in any place but one,
on flowering grave of Lady and the Steed.

RAC 8-29-2000©