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The TowerThe Queen stepped high in the autumn tall grass, Her skirts in her hand held high. She watched for ravens and she watched for crows But none to her hand did fly. She kept up the pace as she marched though the fields, Her eyes were set on the prize. She held all her plans firmly in her thought, She had no fear of reprise. There was no dread, no worry for her kin, No word could relieve this pine… And soon when she saw his tower in the east She skipped and she danced light and fine. The captive man sat high within the walls, His face set long yet so right… She waved her kerchief in the air at him, His smile fell bright on her eye. She swam through the grass…easy in her gait, Moving past the ripened rye. Closer to her love, clever giving dove, The one whose depth she would try… He stared down at her from high up above, His heart in his breast did fly… He fell from the tower, onto the grass, The Queen dashed forth with a cry… With anguished wail she rushed upon the dove, His eminent end seemed nigh. Her voice rang out like heavy leaden bells, Declaring his place by her side. This is my love, my always gentle dove, I claim him, love him as Mine… Soon came the sound of heavy horses hooves, Trampling the grass so high. The King sent men, to bring her back again, Her will abandoned and dry… But as she rode back, her blade she withdrew, Plunged it into her own eye… That was the end of the beautiful Queen, Demise of a splendid mind. Vote for this poem
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