Friday, June 12, 2009

Fall Harvest - Fighter Poem - rondeau

Fall Harvest


The fruit hangs ripe for all to see,
The gardeners espalier the trees
To better let the branches grow,
And till the fields and pull the weeds
As Caid puts its best on show.
A gust of wind or sudden blow
Can knock a fair crop on the breeze,
Then just as quickly tenders seize
The windblown few the better so
The fruit hangs ripe.
Industrious as honey bees
The gardeners of the list trees go
About their Crown-appointed deeds
Until but one is left aglow -
The fruit hangs ripe.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler an empty vessel for the Muse.


This was written in honor of Lists, who keep the tourneys running smoothly.

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