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by Fredegar

Night creeps on, the sky turns grey,
a lone wolf cries from far away.
A chill wind blows, cuts to the bone.
Dark eyes peer ‘round walls of stone.
A tugging wind, the cloak pulls tighter,
a hilt is gripped, knuckles whiter.
Lightning flashes, bright and fleeting,
rain is falling, blowing, sheeting.
‘Round the bend lights are shining.
A sign is blowing, creaking, whining.
White horse painted on wood much weathered
stands on hind legs, mane untethered.
Slowly drawing closer, nearer.
Voices inside sharper, clearer.
Stumble in, shake off the cold,
maiden’s hand on arm takes hold.
A mug of ale, full of foam,
weary, tired, happy, home.


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