THE Black Knight

The Black knight rode that night, he rode upon clonsway, a shaft of light, so bright, so bright, he shot from far away.

His enemy woke with a blade at his throat, his head fell onto the floor,

The blade was wiped clean, for now, so it seemed, for a noise came from outside the door.

  He charged with ferocity, he battled with skill, the guards, they fell before him.

He didn’t keep prisoners, no one was spared, none of them got any mercy. 

     The bard stopped. “ So, my lord, do you find my work suitable enough to be heard  by the lower order?"     The knight turned around, his armor shined, his eyes were hard but kind and his black  cloak billowed in the wind  that came through the arched window near by.  He looked at the bard, who in turn quailed under the lords stern gaze, then suddenly he smiled, as if the whole thing humored him. " No one could have written the tale of my feats quicker or better than yourself. You should be proud sir". The knight gave a bow to the bard, who was so thrilled by his masters praise that his face flushed as red as the tomatoes being harvested by the peasants outside. The knight looked up. " One thing though, the last bit doesn't rhyme".