The Last Great Paladin

 

The Last Great Paladin of Charlemagne

Rode out to battle at Roncesvalle

His armour was forged of finest steel

In roaring flame and shone

His great plume flowed

And through the helm

Cold eyes surveyed the battle lines.

 

Some dark foreboding took him then

And smashed the heart of stone

Recalling when those nights before

He’d lain with her and yearned for peace,

Her lithesome body and gentle face

Her delicate upturned breast

The whiteness of her, fresh as snow,

Turned a furious passionate hue

As they rode each other for all their worth.

 

The Last Great Paladin of Charlemagne

Rode into battle at Roncesvalle;

The lance that took him was her love

Reached out to touch his heart

And as he lay to dying there

Snow white clouds formed above

The flesh of her breast

He dared to kiss.

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(c) Andy Cooke

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