(Written at age 15.)
The wind was blowing, the tides were high,
Dominating the cacophony was the restless owl’s cry,
The moon shone challengingly bright;
It seemed to be a duelling night.
Then, along the shore, on the damp, cool sand
The air materialized, and there appeared to stand
Two knights – with swords, armour and all,
Listening, with eyes closed, to the heart wrenching call.
And o’er the ocean there came into view
A princess in her bridal gown, so glamorously white and new.
She lowered her voice: the knights opened their eyes.
They lunged to kill, for She was the winner’s prize.
But as had been happening for centuries so many,
Both swords found their targets; there wasn’t winner any.
She let fall her eyelids over her eyes: as always, left behind;
She went to no one: neither the villain, nor the one of her kind.
The wind now whispered, the tides were low,
No sound was heard, neither owl nor crow,
The moon slid inconspicuously behind a cloud;
The night was wrapped in a mourning shroud.