This poem and all my Lord of the Rings fan fiction may be found on my website, http://budgielover.com.  

Tale-Spinning

Handsome knights and heroes bold
Lived long ago in stories told
To children by the fireside,
Hearts believing and eyes stretched wide.
Enraptured ears and entranced gaze
Hang on the tale-spinner’s every phrase.

Virtuous maiden ‘prisoned in towers old
With black bread to eat and stone bed cold,
Rags to wear and rats for friends
Held captive till her bondage ends.
She prays for a shining white knight to come,
For rescue from under her warden’s thumb.

The Black Knight sits his great black horse
To prove his cause through use of force.
The White Knight says he cannot agree
Might vs. Right the outcome with see.
Mace and morning star, flail and boiling tar,
The work of Evil, Good must bar.

Horrible trolls under bridges wait
For the unwary their blood-lust sate.
Listening for footsteps on wooden boards
Payment for passage to add to their hoards.
Human meat being by far the best,
Many a soul they’ve laid to his rest.

Dragons spew forth their fatal breath
Challenging princes to the test.
The speed of the strike against slash of the blade
A king’s ransom to be lost, or made.
Each boy imagined the hero was he,
And cheered for the prince’s victory.

A man dressed all in forest-green
Leads his merry band, seen – then unseen.
Stealing the nobleman’s heavy purse
To save his people from hunger’s curse.
Named ‘outlaw’ by a usurping sovereign,
Called by his grateful friends … Robin.

A woman’s hand rises from a still deep glade
Brandishing aloft an enchanted blade.
Awaiting the birth of a young Briton king
Who’s story the bards will ever sing.
His fight against wrong is forever fought,
In a magical place called Camelot.

A lion and a unicorn spar on the grass
Forever in combat, till one the other surpass.
Claws against hooves, fang against horn
From battle and strife a free country born.
A wryven flaps overhead on scaly wings,
Ignoring the conflict for tastier things.

Fairies dance ‘round a mushroom ring
Flutes and lutes warble and ping.
A dwarf beats time on a rough skin drum
And an elf sweetly his harp doth strum.
Music is magic and magic is music,
And from the ring enchantment doth leak.

These are the fables of days long gone by
The listening children heave a sad sigh.
They mourn for unremembered days,
Of forgotten honor and different ways
Wishing that a door would open swing,
And a passage to Fairyland them bring.
The fire burns low over deserted red coals,
As a brownie slips in and home a warm coal rolls.