Max's birthday poem
For: Max Lapides
The Errant Knight, who sits to wait,
his quest deferr’d till later date,
glimpses purpose true in a dress of white,
virgin terror, dark moon, white night.
Galavants this Gallahad out into
the musky gloom for to pursue
his furtive sight that motive instills
the idle hands now ambition fill’d.
He chased and sallied to no avail,
the night wither’d ‘way on maiden’s trail.
But neither weary nor weak was good childe knight,
seeking and soughting, romancing her flight.
At last! He reach’d her on a rocky knoll cleared.
Grasping her chaste dress... She had disappeared!
Where once was milk skin, now, naught but air.
As sure as his pulse, she was not there!
Resign’d and abject, our knight goes to return,
dismayed, disheartened, all fury and scorn.
And alone are we to question for sure:
motives crook’d or motives pure?
(2009)
