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Let my inspiration flow in token rhyme, suggesting rhythm |
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That will not forsake you, till my tale is told and done |
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While the firelight's aglow, strange shadows from the flames will grow |
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Till things we've never seen will seem familiar |
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Shadows of a sailor, forming winds both foul and fair all swarm |
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Down in Carlisle, he loved a lady many years ago |
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Here beside him stands a man, a soldier from the looks of him |
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Who came through many fights, but lost at love |
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While the story teller speaks, a door within the fire creaks |
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Suddenly flies open, and a girl is standing there |
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Eyes alight, with glowing hair, all that fancy paints as fair |
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She takes her fan and throws it, in the lion's den |
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Which of you to gain me, tell, will risk uncertain pains of hell |
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I will not forgive you if you will not take the chance |
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The sailor gave at least a try, the soldier being much too wise |
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Strategy was his strength, and not disaster |
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The sailor, coming out again, the lady fairly leapt at him |
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That's how it stands today. You decide if he was wise |
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The story teller makes no choice. Soon you will not hear his voice |
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His job is to shed light, and not to master |
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Since the end is never told, we pay the teller off in gold |
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In hopes he will return, but he cannot be bought or sold |
