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Poetry News Post #5394

The Mummer's Maid

Written by: Discurean Pathwalker, Finchy 'Neville' Ithilien
Date: Tuesday, March 12th, 2019
Addressed to: a dirt-covered boy


In tattered cloth not fit for sail,
He offered serve in small retail.
Yet suspect I did behind the mask,
'neath the crust, hid midst the must lay task.

Upon the stage an act first bearing malice,
Said I to urchin fill my chalice.

Supping font of leechy brew,
Visited I by the view.
Of Vashnar home where I grew,
Of crimson painted over blue.

Upon the stage an act in second,
Asked I to urchin the pie leavened.

Whereupon heard dripped of waters drop,
Wished I so to make it stop.
Had I become unwitting prop,
an agent chipped of mountaintop?

Upon the play had come act final
Begged I to urchin of things gastral

Eyes seared azure behind the bull
He spoke of Muurn's sweet dark pull
Of he who sunk twice in full
Will rise again its beastly hull

The show at end our path returned,
To beachhead of waters bloody churned.

Beneath the lake the lady coy
rose in drips and drabs, in righteous joy
To grasp the hand of urchin boy
And lead home this envoy


Penned by my hand on the 13th of Ero, in the year 795 AF.


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Poetry News Post #5394

The Mummer's Maid

Written by: Discurean Pathwalker, Finchy 'Neville' Ithilien
Date: Tuesday, March 12th, 2019
Addressed to: a dirt-covered boy


In tattered cloth not fit for sail,
He offered serve in small retail.
Yet suspect I did behind the mask,
'neath the crust, hid midst the must lay task.

Upon the stage an act first bearing malice,
Said I to urchin fill my chalice.

Supping font of leechy brew,
Visited I by the view.
Of Vashnar home where I grew,
Of crimson painted over blue.

Upon the stage an act in second,
Asked I to urchin the pie leavened.

Whereupon heard dripped of waters drop,
Wished I so to make it stop.
Had I become unwitting prop,
an agent chipped of mountaintop?

Upon the play had come act final
Begged I to urchin of things gastral

Eyes seared azure behind the bull
He spoke of Muurn's sweet dark pull
Of he who sunk twice in full
Will rise again its beastly hull

The show at end our path returned,
To beachhead of waters bloody churned.

Beneath the lake the lady coy
rose in drips and drabs, in righteous joy
To grasp the hand of urchin boy
And lead home this envoy


Penned by my hand on the 13th of Ero, in the year 795 AF.


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