BALLAD.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Reviving ballad tradition.

Submitted: April 21, 2008

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Submitted: April 21, 2008

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Go saddle me the black black steed

For I am going on a long long journey

Go wipe away the tears that roll

Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.

 

Fifteen well made men going on their steeds

To get their brides leap over the strand

The brunt hills in search of a namer

Drying fast to justify conscript of land.

 

Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry

The death stalks the hill with sickled moon

The leaden sheen on the steed’s back

Has turned the night’s face into a roon.

 

Late late yesterday I saw the moon

Full bodied like a new sickled maned

The death will stalk these streets tonight

And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.

 

Come on fair ladies hang your hair down

Over the fair head over the abordour

The fifteen men have gone to castle waste

And along came the death to devour.

 

Go saddle me the black black steed

The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry

Though death stalks every haste and waste

And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.

 


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