While traveling o'er the barren moor,
the knight takes pause along his tour
to offer tribute and salute
the vision of a lady fair.
His speech, though brief, hangs in the air,
its strident tones dispel dispair.
The words resound with echo clear;
his visage mirrors the truth they bear.
She is unmoved; she speaketh not;
her face does not reveal her thoughts.
It would seem she did not see
or hear his act of courtesy.
He intends to find a friend
and may not pass this way again;
so he delays, a while he stays
to ponder how this path might end.
But as though she were made of stone,
this matriarch on her black throne
behaves haughtily and spitefully.
Our hero goes his way alone.
In days to come her face may change,
but he'll have crossed that lonely range,
and ventured to pastures more green,
to find a truly worthy queen.
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