My Medieval Maiden

Her soul is filled up to the brim With sadness, so bereft, Quite deep in thoughts that are of him, As God's Crusaders left... Oblivious to all events, She lays without a sound, In finest gossamer garments, With twilight all around... I gaze upon the lass I love, Yet she does not love me, But I must choose to rise above, To set her spirit free... Her winsome face must smile again, Or else my heart would break, God grant me strength to help and then Please heal her lonesome ache... Before this night comes to a close, I vow to prove her friend, To help her blossom like a rose That has not met its end... While there is faith and hope and love, God let my maiden smile, For she is gentle as a dove And makes my life worthwhile... Though she still loves another heart, Crusaders chose to leave And her despair tears me apart, Such that I, too, would grieve... Lord, grant some miracle this night, With no more tears to weep, God grant her smiles of pure delight, Then let my maiden sleep... Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2013.