Drifting Seasons

"Unsuspected Trip" Running over his foot she trip Items flung from her grasp Falling on the dirt landing on her hip Letting out a shocking gasp Crash…crackle…fallen jar shatters The only sound for all to hear On the dry ground the milk splatters Her only sight as eyes begin to tear Yet back to business they people tend The girl left on the earth to cry Only Bard’s helping hands to lend Unaware from afar Melanie secretly spy Reaching for a sack and untying its string Revealing a hundred gold pieces from the king Little one do not stress I am to blame for the mess Replenish thy goods with this gold All the extra is yours to hold Staring at the warrior in disbelief While in her hands the heavy sack sank A sudden smile of great relief With a risen spirit she gratefully thank Of she ran towards the stand Drowning deep into the crowd Melanie watching and smiling grand His kind actions made her proud To know him more she did not mind A rare fighter, gentle and kind Turning around as he heard his name His pure rose was there to see Nervous to make a mistake in shame Wondering what she thinks of he Your race is usually filled with pride Yet as I witness your honorable deed You are here to help those in need With no expected reward on the side You seem like a man that is honest and true How bout we go on that friendly walk I know of a garden to rest and talk A simple chat just between me and you Together the two rest under the warm sun light As they shared each other’s tales with much delight (Read the rest of Bard’s tale in “A Warrior and His Flower”) "Guile" Ten years a docile servant to the throne To many the path of glory he had shown Yet never drafted to a campaign of his own A dejected sentinel patrolling the ridge The puppeteer of the castle drawbridge Whose greatest threat was the moat's midge The long reiterative tariffs begin to tire A venture for honor he wished to acquire To be a better janissary that'll assist his sire Yet his assigned arsenal was standard and lame The metal he exerted bared no mythical name Incapable of bringing even Sir Galahad fame Besides the sleeping champion was always informed For destiny gave the tasks that needed to be performed Along with the instruments that divinity had reformed But at every dusk a pilgrimage he'd take The very one from which legends awake By seeking the blessing of the Lady of the Lake To be in a minstrel's lyrics or a prose of a bard To unearth the Sangreal or retrieve a mere shard To command a legion or stand as a royal guard To propose to a maiden that they wed Or to tuck his daughter safely in bed Or watch his son become a knight instead To impart with him a new contrary task Or allow his credit to someone be basked For an alter in the gust is all that he asked (Read the rest of the tale in “Guile”)