The Minstrel

A minstrel so ragged and deathly pale,

He was scarcely visible in daylight,

Sang an unearthly and terrible tale,

Of heroes who fought the fell Prince of Night.

‘Twas the youth of our world fought in that war,

When the world itself was not long from birth,

And light and darkness were battling for

The right to dominate all of the Earth.

The Legions of Light stood proudly and shone,

With the gold and silver of moon and sun,

Their lances, an ebony forest grown,

And their golden voices sang out as one.

Their bright golden swords rent the air like flame.

The light of their eyes beamed silvery bright.

A river of fire their chargers became,

As they swept the sky setting all alight.

Yet, the darkness thirsted for light of day,

And welcomed the fire to its bosom, black;

To help drive its unending chill away,

And illuminate its one greatest lack:

With no light, the Prince of Night could not see,

His subjects or the wondrous things he made;

And the Legion of Light had to agree,

That bright light's oppressive when there's no shade.

They forged an agreement to end the fight:

The dark Prince gave shadows to cool the day,

The Legion gave distant, diamond starlight,

And since then they have shared every day.

The old minstrel stroked his scruffy gray beard,

Flashed a smile, then winked, and he disappeared.

Mick McKellar

July 2014

Have you met The Minstrel? His tunes tell tales of heroes, villains, and just plain folk; from the smallest act of pure love to the mightiest powers moving the universe. He is both witness and bard, for he was there…

Mick