A Divulge

At the water's edge, I await him.
Though on this earth, I live alone.
From a mountainside I thought
I found him,
but all there was
were the other's tired lies.

From a distant planet, came a drifter.
Gliding along the hills, he wove a tale.
And in the quiet realm of night,
he entranced my young, fresh soul
with magic, spinning words of art and ardor.

And I have never been the same,
since he went away.

He gathered up his trappings,
and whispered to me,
"Your land is fine,
but how I long for home."
I hope his lady's
attentions transcend my own.

I am not the fairest of the maidens.
My face is pale, my hair long and dark.
And when this strange and foreign bard
formed his wondrous songs-
his lines became mine, and all mine his.


If I send him letters from far away,
His sripe'd caravan will float by one moonlit night.
Bedecked in gypsy clothes,
flowers in my hair,
we'll sit again and share our mystic world.

Of the many lords and knights of this land,
there has never been one such as he.
I'll write and sing of him, sing and write of him,
till my voice and words run dry eternally.

And I have never been the same, since he went away.