What seest thou in this broken-down knight? My lance no longer flies true. My blade is rusty, the shield too heavy and my armor's really quite tight. 'Tis time, I fear, to stop my roaming quests before I hurt myself. Aye, 'tis for the best, my little rosebud. I can spend all my time with you. Don't cry my love. I know 'tis your dream come true. What need have I of the elusive grail when all my treasure is in you? And of a
truth, dragons have become tiresome and no longer rise to the fight. They lie there with silly grins on their faces. It's hard on a sensitive knight. Why, the last time one opened his mouth 'twas but to yawn. Then the beast winked at me and sang himself to sleep. I fear fighting dragons has become a dying art. And maidens in distress? Why, they've become just as irksome. Not one in the kingdom follows the
code and it bodes ill for me. When I make my rounds to see how they fare, I can see on their faces, they wish I weren't there. 'Tis rumored they all agree, 'tis safer to defend themselves. A knight knows when to hang up his shield, leave the field for hearth and home. No longer will my fearsome blade sing over hill and glade. But
truly, what care I for the quest? I still have you, my pet, seems like 'tis been forever.
I know there must be more to life, but in truth, I can't remember. Our wedding day has come and gone, 'twas it a beautiful affair? Some things so easily slip my mind but I assume that you were there. In your eyes I see, what, my little sprite? Curiosity? Disbelief? Or is it a wife's adoration I see buried there so deep? Yes, I know you love me, for the Hallmarks that you send. And the carrion you braise for
me speaks volumes. The keepsake that you carved last night still dangles round my neck. 'Twill wear it as a token, despite this fiery itch. Love you? How can you even ask? You pierce my heart with such words of doubt. Why, I think if I should give it thought, I've loved you since time began. How could I not? The curl of your lips when you smile, the way you say your "P's", your tangled wind-blown hair still
excites me. The bumps that cover your lovely face send shivers down my spine. And when we kiss, oh, when we kiss I fancy I taste wine. 'Tis not like drinking from the grail, 'tis true, but 'twould rather drink, my sunshine, the sweeter of the two. Ah, don't cry so. 'Tis what I feel, my rose. I suppose I never could hide my true feelings. Say you doubt my love no longer. Why, apparently I've made you my bride so thus
the matter's settled. Give me one last token of your love. Whisper in my ear again those sweet words of joy. Tell me how blessed you are that I'm your own. Seemst I never tire of hearing the tale retold. What's that my little cottontail, you've never told it before? Then let this be the first and we'll speak of it no more. Words fail to do you justice, and I'd really rather not try. 'Twould tax a tuneless bard let alone
such as I. But come. Let us walk to the king's castle, and pledge our lives anew. 'Tis rumored he hires noble knights and he may find work for you. Yes, my love, fearst I did say 'walk'! The horse balks at the very thought of trying to carry two. Canst thou blame her? Nay! She is getting older now and burdened with extra weight. The strain would be too great a one, forsooth. And in truth, my lady, if she had to
choose, she'd carry me not you. A horse is a knight's most loyal friend, 'tis in all chivalry's journals. We've been through thick and thin, she and I. What's that, my little sparrow? Did I hear you cast aspersions? In truth couldst say the same for you but I refuse to make comparisons. Don't pout, my little squirrel, let us journey forth. We'll trod these painful miles side by side. I with knight's determined purpose,
my banner held on high, and you struggling to keep the pace limp-limping behind. 'Twill be our way of honoring this noble beast for a life of past glories. Could she but talk what stories she would tell! What's that, my princess? Oh, yes I must agree. 'Twould be a most unbearable burden, if this horse talked as much as thee. But see here! Couldst thou not walk a little faster? Step lively, my fluttering goldfinch.
Methinks I hear the heralds in yonder castle ring. No wait! for it seems I spoke in haste, but listen to that most unusual sound. Ah, 'tis but you, my red-faced cherry loping to keep up; gasping, panting, wheezing in three-part harmony. I must compliment you, my sweet,on a most interesting beat. Forsooth, wouldst tune my lute and strum along. But see here, my frolicsome filly. Duty now beckons and I must
ride awhile. Behold the longing in her wistful eyes! It's a look I've often seen before. She's overly sensitive for a horse and a crying horse I deplore. 'Tis for her sake then that I mount my steed else I fear her heart would break. 'Twouldn't do to upset the beast for only she knows the way. So come, my dove, don't lag behind, grab the horses tail. What's that, fair lady? I fearst I did not hear you? Ah, I see. 'Tis best not
to repeat such words of love. 'Twould but incite jealousy in the most stouthearted knight. But hasten, my scented rose! Pray follow as best you can. What's that, my bouncing cricket? Of course I still love you. What makes you ask your yokemate yet again? Ah, don't cry, my bubbling waterspout. I sense your pain and sorrow. 'Tis common when two hearts beat as one. Let us camp in yonder clearing, 'tis such a
lovely site, and set forth again on the morrow. I fearst this saddle harder than I thought. Wouldst I brought the cream my lady had so graciously wrought. Blisters hurt anywhere, 'tis what I find. It matters not that all mine are behind. But see, my enchanted dewdrop, we stop at sundown. Is this not a sign of my love? Now spread your cloak, for our bed, under that weeping willow. Cushion it well, my
bluebell, with moss for our pillow. Wouldst I could help but I'd just get in the way.
Perhaps I'll light a fire so the horse doesn't catch a chill. Ah, my little daffodil, just over yonder hill our new life soon begins. I can feel it in my bones and in my blood. If not that particular hill, 'twill be the next but two. So cheer up, my little nightingale, try not to be so blue. On the morrow, by the setting sun, squinting west we'll know
we're done, if we spot the castle through our teary eyes. The only glitch I foresee 'twould be a most unfortunate condition. What if this unpredictable nag has led us in the wrong direction? Ah, that 'twould be a lark, 'twould it not? Buck up, my buxom beauty. Keep your wits just a bit longer. I vow that we'll be there within the week. Hush, my love, please don't speak. Words, I know, however meek, would fail to do
me adequate justice. 'Tis best to let the silence say it all. Ah, my puffin, but think! One night soon, by the light of yonder moon, we'll see the castle gates opened wide. I'll dismount gladly at your side, lift you up so you can ride, and proudly walk the final mile with you.
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