Thursday, February 16, 2017

The Tourney Grounds (Writing Game 3)

The masterful knight fell to his knees,
By the sword of the man,
Who did not accept his pleas.
As his blood subtle down his armour ran
He saw his squire come,
With sword in hand.
The knight’s squire did everything he could,
But the knight’s honour
Let him not help him nor would,
He accept the squire’s hand
For getting him off of his knees,
Would turn his honour bland.
He would be knocked out by even a slight breeze,

Cause the ferryman had already been paid his fees.


1 comment:

  1. Not sure how the phrase would have sounded in its original, forward form? "Would nor him help" doesn't sound right, does it?

    The poem of knightly honor and destiny is quite effective, but I thought 'bland' was a disappointingly - well, bland rhyme...

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