Sir Lancelot, a valiant knight-
Rode out with frosted breath...
To meet the new born rising sun
And joust at dawn with death.
The foe he rode to meet at dawn-
A victor many fold...
Sir Lancelot for honor fights,
The other fights for gold.
And as he rode, he softly sang-
To Karsh, his noble steed...
A dastard fights for tawdry coin
For honor I would bleed.
A hireling bears his arms for hire-
A harlot of a sort-
I’d die before I’d thus stoop low-
And to such things resort.
They met at dawn upon a sward-
As dry as fair knight’s mouth..
The hireling rode in from the North
The hero from the South.
The neigh of steeds, the clash or arms
The stench of blood and sweat..
And great the clamor there arose
When wolf and jackal met.
Twice Sir Lancelot dehorsed-
His raving, savage foe-
And twice the valiant knight drew rein
And would not strike a blow.
At length brave Karsh did slip and fall
And Lancelot was pinned...
The craven struck a mortal blow-
And thought it was the end.
Yet ever after as he rode..
To do his master’s will...
He’d hear faint hoofbeats at his back
Each time that he drew still.
In dreams he’d often toss and turn-
And moan and curse at night..
Regret the craven blow he struck
At such a valiant knight.
And then at last when peace had fled..
And drew his just reward..
He said, “I’m haunted by the dead”.
And then fell on his sword.
A moral? Yes, I think there is-
It’s better far to die,
A noble lion, than to live-
A dog...who lives a lie.