A Medieval Poem

by Lillian M. Howell

Dead at the foot of the castle wall

Lay the King’s youngest son.

Black crows circled above him
Where is his golden crown?
No crown enters the gates of heaven
Even if you are son of a king,
Bad omen for the kingdom

Whispered all the King’s men.

Covered in black, weeping her pain
The Queen, his mother kneels
in front of the silent King.
Why did you send him
To war My Lord being our youngest son?
Never again will I see his smile
or caress his golden hair.
Bad omen for the kingdom
Whispered all the King’s men.

The day of his birth
Luana the witch, warned you about his fate.
You had no right to send him to war
being our youngest son.
He was no soldier,

He was an artist.
No wish of glory moved him.
Oh! Powerful Lord!
Lord of these lands!
What have you done to me?

Kingdoms and Glory
Will come and go,
You will become weak and old.
No man can stop the pace of time
Not even you My Lord!
For the rest of your life
I swear by God,
On your hands will lie
The blood and the death
of the Prince,
Our youngest son.