art, Fiction, history, Medieval, poetry

Death of a Liege Lord (And the Peasant Girl Did Not Notice but Instead Dreamt of Fireflies)

Welcome here then

To December

Waits a locust

And remember

what a corn fed

fitch of Forefield

Nodded off and remembered

Lords have always worn a caul

‘Fore their crown and ‘fore their fall

They humptyed and dumptyed

And spread their febrile fluid gospel cross the grass

Each night she saw the hills that marked her country

A town that every night still fell asleep
Too the sounds of livestock lolling softly

And the carefree fumblings of her brothers

With the neighbor girl

And once a blue moon wondering she did go

And found the fireflies cavorting silent in the meadow

And so she dreams of times when she was felt no filth

Little knowing these insects would be

The greatest light, aside from the hearth fire

She would ever see


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