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by Na'arah bat Avraham

T'was Yuletide eve, and Winter's hand
Had set her touch upon the land
And in the hall, a merry throng
Made holiday cheer, and I among

Then I felt a sudden chill
Upon my heart, the room grew still
The baron sat upon his throne
'Before him stood a maid, alone

"My lord," she said, "O, grant my plea
The raiders came from o'er the sea
My family's slain, my lands are gone
I need a sword to right this wrong."

With her words, my heart grew brave
I'd champion this cause, her lands to save
My baron's blessing on my head
iI'd fight 'til foes, or I, lay dead

Of battles fierce, I cannot tell
though Memory's strong, I dreamed 'twas Hell
My enemies dead, about me lay
For honour true had won that day

I fell in swoon at my lady's feet
Though injured not, I knew defeat
For Battle's tax and ta'en its fee
My lady's lord, ne'er again to be

I felt her tears, I heard her sigh
"My lord, my love, thou must not die
Fight for my love, and live for me."
I took strength from her words and from Death Broke free

I raised my head, I saw her face
My lips spoke words, inspire by her grace
"O, with my sword and with my skill
I'll fight for you and always will."

 



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