The Armoured Lament

“O knights, to-night we ride,

champs of flora and men.

We whistle whilst we trek on tracks,

we Fates decide the sin.”

The natural folk frolic-

fae dance under the moon.

The stars cry tales of lovelorn lost,

fantastic beasts in tune.

When heard the chants a-come,

the creatures’ eyes doth shut,

suffering from visions of their

head mounted in the pub.

Beware the unseen eye, 

which opens when you turn.

The gaze sought not to see but sense,

by break-less chain you’ll learn.

In wake of weathered scorn-

Heaven sent to rejoin

a sacrificial morn,

lest there birth a unicorn.