Simple of the Forest
Posted by faucon
As I tend to the morning Lantern I can hear muted rustlings from the Gypsie camp being set up near by. So close, yet …
Here I will sit within rough stone walls and organize thoughts in story and verse, while they enjoy the whispers of the forest — and call to simpler life. Which generates a poem, of course, based on recent studies of early archery prowess.
Set in the hill above the Crecy vale is a rift masked by willow tree;
And there we met in secrecy though Petrie did climb a spruce to see.
We were but hunters and foresters true that protected the verdant land;
But the cry of widows from marsh and field did draw us out to make a stand.
Two bows each we set beside a basket full large in arrows of flight.
Ten per minute’s call we twelve could sail in group profound or lesser might.
With finger neumes that might direct a choir did Petrie guide within the day,
First he for eighty called, then forty slightly low, beneath the shield to slay.
We never saw the battle, nor challenged glint of sun on bold chested mail.
We just went home at sunset, arrowless, and less of clue to win or fail.
We are the simple of the forest, and claim every tree as our frien’;
But when tears are seeds on the lowland meadow, we will sure come again.