Sitting in Michael's Lap
Bright Destiny, upon her hallowed height,
Did weave her cloth beyond the eyes of Man
For ages long, until, to her delight,
A pilgrim came unto her lofty land.
With hopeful voice, and humble manner came
This faithful man, to ask of her a boon.
Impressed, she granted anything he'd name:
If asked, she might have given him the moon.
But he, in quiet tones, on bended knee,
Asked not the riches she was thinking of:
He whispered, "Only this I ask of thee,
Dear Lady, that you favor me with Love."
She answered, "Seek thou not such flighty things;
For this one gift I cannot guarantee –
‘Tis threefold pain for every joy it brings –
Ask not this boon, brave Knight, I beg of thee."
"Oh sovereign Queen," he begged, "oh Lady Bright,
I humbly ask that you do not deny
My one request – else on this curse'd night
I shall of my despair most surely die!"
"Beseech me not! For this is no reward
That thou hast asked!" she said, her visage grim,
"‘Tis kinder fate to die upon the sword
Than live as slave to Love's inconstant whim!"
But he, unfazed, would not her warning heed,
So she, with anguished heart, her promise kept:
And in her magic web, performed the deed
He asked of her, but as he left, she wept;
For Destiny, with her enchanted eyes,
Within her web, could see a tangled skein
That spoke of his untainted heart's demise
And in its wake, an endless well of pain.
She saw her Knight, his vibrant spirit bled
Of all delight, in payment for his quest:
And so, with heavy heart, she cut the thread,
And gathered him, in Love, unto her breast.
You cannot choose the way of your death, but the path you choose will determine its own end.
[This message has been edited by Skyfyre (edited 01-11-2000).]