[Editor's Note: last one had a huge mistake with my signature being
inserted before the end...I've fired the scribe and done this one
myself]

Around a tree of green,
We meet once again,
Hands held in front,
And twined together with the others,
Beautiful gown of the purest red,
Stirs in me a passion,
Long forgotten dead.

Think on your own,
Why would we be here?
To pass a secret kept too long.
I love you more than life itself,
No longer will I keep it on the shelf,
To be closed in a box and forgotten,
Like the memories of one departed,
Dust collectors for you,
To occasionally remember me.

A swirl of red,
Tangled in the black that is mine,
Picturesque as if from a story,
Of the perfect little princess,
Dancing with her soon to be King,
No cares in the world could ever,
Disrupt the harmony befallen her,
Nothing can change her mind.

She thinks on her own,
Why would she be there?
To pass a secret kept too long.
She loves him more than life itself,
And so her bard makes it a song,
That will spin a tale of tragedy,
More powerful than the politically,
Incorrect. She's the princess of a country,
Ruled by chaos in the night, and no one,
Will remember her when she's gone tonight.

The red bleeds into,
The carpet of her making,
A fair seamstress was she,
But her husband's hand, less than gentle,
From many years of deft hand use.

He finds himself weak in the knees,
But the somber tones of the doctor,
Makes his ears deaf to the melodies,
Of the his country now rejoicing in the softness he's,
Regained...

He thinks to himself,
Why would he be here?
To spread word of a secret kept too long:
He loved her more than life itself,
And their daughter yet unborn,
Her people are his people and her crown he will not scorn.
A mantle more deserving of a woman of her kind,
He spreads the song made by her bard,
To instill in his people's mind,
The memory of a princess,
Not stuck in a shelved box,
She was a beauty, intelligent and caring,
She was the foundation made of rocks.
She'll always be remembered, in the song created by a,
Bard who loved her more than life itself.

Lord Riashain a'Bertal,
The Bard Lord

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Phaestian, in the year 379 AF.