The Poetry Knight
rode in upon his steed,
then he was gone;
the people sighed,
they had a need,
for poems,
yes, a need indeed.
The Poetry Knight
he hadn’t stopped,
not one small verse
had he dropped
into the laps
of the people;
perhaps he had,
forgotten to stop,
“Begorra! Egad!”
the people shouted,
the people cried,
one of the people was very old
and died (of natural causes –
it’s sad to say,
that things like that
happen every day).
The Poetry Knight
was, by now, far away,
and little did he have to say;
upon the subject,
he was as mute
as the mutest swan,
who was one day here,
the next day
gone.
