Along the dusty moonlight lane
He shadows doth deplore,
The figure of a horseman
On the way to likely moor.
The trees beckon with branches taunt
Lady moon glares from above,
Miss Owl calls her warning
As he races toward his love.
He heeds not beckoning branches
Ignores moon’s sullen stare
He hears not Owl’s warning call
Deaf and blind beyond repair.
For he hears not but her laughter,
He sees not but her eyes,
And as he plunges from the cliff
Nary once does he wonder why.
For if life should strive to stop him,
And it death should bar the door,
He’ll take the only way to her,
Give his life on Likely Moor.
For Prince though he is,
And Shepherdess she,
Love doomed by bloodlines,
Love that can never be.
Moira_Roes Community Member 
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