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On Night's White Horse

The sweet white knight
to his maiden fly,
amongst the trees
as the dawn comes nigh.

The maiden sits
as still as death
yet cheeks of blush
and lungs of breath.

Awaiting her knight
in the break of dawn
at her window
her mind yet gone.

As she thinks of he,
her sweet white knight,
away at battle,
for she he fight.

A promise unbroken
to see her again,
though mountains and rivers
and valleys send

an ominous message,
an obstacle clear,
he'll find her, his sweetheart,
she knows he is near.

Yet so far he seems,
oh so far away,
she weeps for her knight,
all night and all day.

Stuck in her prison,
a prison of walls,
"Abigail, Abigail,"
she hears, his voice calls.

The knight, he rides faster
than fastest can be,
but still a long time
will it take him to see

the beauteous maiden,
the keeper of hearts.
Who has stolen his now
with Cupid's red darts.

The maiden, she waits there,
forever it seems.
The sun, it soon rises,
but her warrior she deem

worthy of love,
worthy of she,
is nowhere, is somewhere,
but he she can't see.

And soon she is hopeless,
he will never come back.
The promise now broken,
the bond they now lack.

And death it comes
on Night's white horse
to lowly maiden,
Love's sweet discourse.

To ride in the night
above the clouds,
on top of the world,
in dusk's shadowed shroud.

Yet the knight not know
of his maiden's demise;
he arrives at the cottage
in night's dark disguise.

Upon seeing the maiden
with blood on her breast,
he takes his own dagger,
and out of his chest,

he spills his blood
and lays to rest
beside his maiden
in garments best

they lay as one,
in soul and heart,
for once together,
and never to part.

~ Kelly Gass