Winter has gone, spring arrived.
My coat torn, my hair frazzled.
Little of my rations survived.
But on a small hill, a sight dazzled.
What a gander! An old manor!
In any other place, it'd be a somber sight.
But after many lonely months of travel,
to see it is surely a delight,
as lovely as any sparkling castle.
In the windows, a dim amber glow.
Here at last, another soul?
Caution, I recall, as I approach the chateau.
Perhaps their loneliness, I can condole?
Tight the curtains are drawn.
At least some green: some weedy scrub,
growing on the squalid lawn,
around tree stumps, nought but nubs.
A handle of brass with heavy tarnish
sits on an ancient door, of weather worn oak.
Scruffy and scratched, with peeling varnish.
Pulling the bell's cord, it echoes a croak.
I haven't spied it since a few days past.
Careful not to lose my wits while I wait.
It's out there still, and I know it's fast.
Could it be... that this house here is bait?
Quicker than the gricken, my apprehension grows.
But then the door, starts to creak.
Light through the portal parts to show
an old woman, who appears frail and meek.
"Rare is my visitor," she said,
"come in, come in, I'll make sure you're fed."
I step inside, and in candlelight I see
dusty furniture, torn tapestries, around me.
Ahead I smell, an odor my nose drew
earth vegetables, in some sort of stew.
Through a short hall she lead.
I hope too, she has warm bread.
We ate together, at a small table.
Rate is this moment, for here are few folk.
I was sated quickly, I ate all I was able.
Then when done, again she spoke:
"In your travels, what have you seen?
How long has it been?
What news do you bring?
And how fares the king?"
"What," I utter, "don't you know?
The last prince died long ago.
A republic now, throughout the land,
rulers still, but an elected band."
"Alas," she rejoined, "long has it been,
since I've been in the shadows of that castle of tin."
"That's gone too, melted away,
in a fiery night, the first of some May."
A silence then over took our pair
as the light of the fire danced on her cheeks.
Her weary lines furrowed beneath thin tangly hair,
dirtier than fresh green leeks.
"Why do you look at me so?
Is this what you fear?
To grow old like me? Don't you know
you'll grow just as old here!"
"I'm here to find,
not to flee.
I've seen it in my mind,
that thing of glee."
"Oh, in that joggle of cords,
up there in your head?
Think you will find it,
before you are dead?"
Mar 27, 2026