An Epic Poem

In days of old, in times of yore,
'Twas none more deadly than my sword;
The name of Valor did it bear
And three red rubies did it wear.
Upon my belt did Valor ride,
Causing all who saw to hide;
A hefty blade of great renown,
With inlaid runes carved up and down.
In times of old did Valor play,
Against the evil minions vast;
With gleaming, gilded, gold-set blade,
The plans of darkness it waylaid.

With brandished blade and clad in mail,
This knight embarks upon this tale;
With restless heart and lofty dreams
He seeks a way, he seeks a means,
To make a name, to do a deed,
To help a maiden who's in need.
Into his quest he jauntily rode,
And wandered endless paths and roads,
Until at last he longed to rest,
Weary of his lonely quest.

Beneath an ancient, gnarled oak
He sank beneath his weathered cloak,
And resting there through many hours
Restored his youth and gave him power.
Again he rose and mounted tall,
Intent again to find his call;
A gentle word, a guiding touch,
And again his trusty steed was off.
But that's a story for another time,
Another tale, another rhyme;
'Cause as the knight must rest his head,
So this young scribe must head to bed.

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