(a Mayberrie’ poem)
.
He commanded her to flee,
the troops were near,
a bugle called.
One more embrace,
one last locking of their eyes,
then go! he cried,
mounting his steed
and in his voice
she heard the heat
and so she fled into the forest
never looking back.
.
Tears stung her cheeks
as wild roses tore her skirt
and branches of the trees
reached out
grabbing at her arms.
She stumbled over coiled roots,
weeping thorns caught her hair
but on she rushed
away from shouts of boiling thunder,
to the castle wall –
knowing that before he rode away
he stopped
and silent, watched her go.
.
© 2012 Betty Hayes Albright
Seasonings 