4-15

Sing me a song, love, or tell me a story
Of those old days when princes were shrouded in glory
and love was an item so magic and rare
that they fought wars and burned cities o'er taking their share.
Write me a poem or hum me a tune
about swinging long swords and white breasts that are hewn
over treasures and maidens who stood by the side
of great heroes on horses gath'ring courage to ride.
Such great battles were fought that time cannot dim
the words of the splendor of the she that loved him
and I promise to listen and stop up my mind
when I'm wondering what kind of magic I'll find.
Time passes and gold gilds the goriest mark
and turns trauma to passion in the depths of the dark
and the women who stood by the side of these men
I wonder sometimes what their thoughts all have been
and how many were seeking a way to be free
and how many were quiet and yet wild just like me
and if they were given the slightest of rein
if they'd choose to be prizes and cause so much pain
I wonder if they looked at the fields soaked in blood
and the screaming and dying who lay in the mud
and I wish I could ask them, if given the choice,
if their people would pause and heed to their voice,
if they would have wanted to stand where it was that they stood
or if things may have been different if they only could
have been strong on their own feet, and made their own way
I wonder if they would have still chosen to stay.
But I'm sorry, my love, here I'm lost in my head
over stories of romance of heroes long dead.
Here, I'll close up my lips, and I'll listen, I swear,
to these stories of women with shimmering hair
and the men who did love them, at least, so we're told
in these stories of glory and princes of old.