Gala The Word Wench
12-16-2003, 12:01 AM
Comes the night of small delight,
and when the cold is creeping
the maid perchance to dream her knight
was close by her softly sleeping.
Away her fair and valiant one,
to serve the king and crown,
and only when she chanced to sleep
could his wonders still be found.
So it came a moonlit night
when Midwinter was at hand,
the maid was musing by fire's light
and longing for her man.
The greens were hung in festive care,
the hall was sweet with pine,
the grounds were softly being lit
by a ghostly moon spilled shine.
And she dressed in velveteen,
the crimson he so admired
and sat her lonely musing self
not far from the roaring fire.
The other ladies dreamed and sighed
about the coming gifting,
and longed for baubles that would shine,
and find their spirits lifting.
But the knight's sweet lady did not care,
she simply watched the flames
and tried to see his outline there,
and not to breath his name.
The merrymaking was quite loud,
she turned her face again,
when came a mumur from the crowd,
and then she heard her name.
She sprang as if her feet had wings,
she leapt into his arms,
he was returned, a yultide gift,
whole, and safe from harm.
They stood before the roaring logs,
engulfed in fierce embrace,
and there was no doubting all the joy
she wore on her fair face.
The moon had cast a spell you see,
and brought to her delight
the one who's face she longed to touch,
that moonlit Christmas night.
and when the cold is creeping
the maid perchance to dream her knight
was close by her softly sleeping.
Away her fair and valiant one,
to serve the king and crown,
and only when she chanced to sleep
could his wonders still be found.
So it came a moonlit night
when Midwinter was at hand,
the maid was musing by fire's light
and longing for her man.
The greens were hung in festive care,
the hall was sweet with pine,
the grounds were softly being lit
by a ghostly moon spilled shine.
And she dressed in velveteen,
the crimson he so admired
and sat her lonely musing self
not far from the roaring fire.
The other ladies dreamed and sighed
about the coming gifting,
and longed for baubles that would shine,
and find their spirits lifting.
But the knight's sweet lady did not care,
she simply watched the flames
and tried to see his outline there,
and not to breath his name.
The merrymaking was quite loud,
she turned her face again,
when came a mumur from the crowd,
and then she heard her name.
She sprang as if her feet had wings,
she leapt into his arms,
he was returned, a yultide gift,
whole, and safe from harm.
They stood before the roaring logs,
engulfed in fierce embrace,
and there was no doubting all the joy
she wore on her fair face.
The moon had cast a spell you see,
and brought to her delight
the one who's face she longed to touch,
that moonlit Christmas night.