The Old Knight Prepares To Ride Out One Last Time

The Old Knight Prepares To Ride Out One Last Time

My war blade is scarred with battles long past;
The sword of my father, and father before.
Though I fear that this riding is most like, my last
The scabbard I’ll hang on my belt once more.

My helmet is dented, the crest shorn away.
No time to restore to its previous pride.
‘T will serve me once more in the coming affray,
A practical helm for one final ride

My breastplate and armor betray their hard use,
Friends and companions through many affairs,
Much-mended, but rust -free, comfortably loose,
But heavier now with the weight of my years.

My faithful destrier prefers his stall
To a cold morning’s ride with a battle to come.
He stamps and complains as he answers my call,
But his ears still prick up at the sound of the drum.

My shield needs repainting, it’s battered and marred.
The herald might strain to tell my device.
The colors are faded but the surface is hard,
And for this final hosting, I think ‘t will suffice.

I feel the old aches in my scars and my bones,
Limbs heavy with age, but muscle still hale.
I’m not what I was these forty years gone
But what’s lost is replaced with cunning and skill.

My lady stands at my stirrup and weeps.
As always she fears she will lose me to war.
Though I’ve always come home, her worry she keeps,
Knowing that some day I may come no more.

My sons mount their horses as armored as me,
Proud in their youth and the strength of their arms,
Grown to fine manhood, a credit to see,
Yet still I pray God, that he keep them from harm.

At my word we move out, and onto the way
To join in the hosting with master and lord.
My banner flies freely, I enter the fray.
Be gone, now, reflection. Tis time for the sword!

And who is to say, at the end of this ride,
Should I return or should I be slain.
As long as tis said twas with honor I died,
My life is my own, undefeated, unstained.