Three Poems by Fidens Nighthand
Nighthand was growing more and more uneasy as the days went on. He could not approach Gallia without being lectured, with ever-increasing ferocity, on the history of Glimourian trading routes. He turned, therefore, as thousands had done before him, to the comfort of poetry.
My love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June.
(Thorny. Attractive to bees and other pollinators.)
My love is like a melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
(I am not musical, but if it pleased you I would learn.
The traditional Berserker instrument is
Bagpipes and
Screaming.)
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
No. That would be absurd.
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
And also thou art a woman, not a moment on the space-time continuum.
Irian: I love you
And ever shall
And ever will
If you allow
My ever, ever
Ever.