Monday, 11 June 2012


The careworn troubador leant his
Spare frame against an ancient walnut
Tree and adjusted the frayed strings of
His battered lute, seeking to eke out
One final serenade for his fickle mistress
Who concealed herself behind the warped
Jalousies of her first floor boudoir, nibbling
Distractedly on the sugar plums delivered
Via her maid that forenoon, along with a new
Folio of Petrarch's sonnets and a posy
Of wild violets and forget-me-nots;
As the plangent chords and arpeggios
Floated upwards from the minnesinger's
Instrument the shutters creaked open a
Fraction under the action of an unseen hand
And a glimmer of lamplight escaped into
The perfumed night garden, encouraging
The lovelorn musician to join his voice to
The melody plucked by his elegant fingers;
As the haunting lyrics unfolded in his clear
Baritone he heard a faint response from
Within his beloved's chamber and soon
They were transported by their duet;
After three verses his inamorata appeared
On the balcony and smiled sweetly at her
Swain, beckoning him to join her aloft;
He tossed the lute up first, then availed
Himself of the sturdy walnut tree to
Climb up to the outstretched waiting arms
A scops owl tonked its approval as the
Shutters closed until the morning
On the sweet transpositions essayed within

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