Lady Knight

The clink of rain on a whetstoned blade
her reflection of pageboy hair and slick
blood at the brow, her lady’s handkerchief
tucked under linens against her breast,
she is the Lion of the Queen, fierce beast
in the battlefield, tender as the moon in
the silk-draped bower of her patron, the
woman knight is rough, calloused, brick muscle
her face and limbs scarred by spear and sword
she won the jaunts at the joust, boldly lanced
with colors of her ruler, a cutting of her hair
you are my heart, I am your shield, your temper
I will lay down my life for you, and you alone.

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