THE DEATH OF A YOUNG KING . . .

THE DEATH OF A YOUNG KING . . .

Eight of the strongest and bravest of warriors were collected in all

Each chosen for their strength - each of the same height and gaul

Their task was not an easy one there to carry home their dead King

With the priests to follow on thereafter - with their brass bells ring

This King had lead them all into battle - a bloody battle now all lost

The burden now was to carry this young loyal King home at all cost

The grieved young messenger - who rode on his trusted black steed

That galloping rapidly through glades never faltering with its speed

With it a message he unwanted to give to either courtiers or queen

One young King killed with a lanced spear clean - through his spleen

Back yonder the now arranged strong warriors lifted their King aloft

Not one word was spoken as they carried him across the dark croft

The weight of their young King gilded shield only adding to their toll

But to bring their brave young King home - to be now their only goal

Over three hundred miles they travelled through thickets and vales

Their woven tartan clads wrapped tightly against the harshing gales

For two nights and days they carried until their kingdom was in sight

Heads lowered from their tiredness and thoughts of their lowly plight

On entering the royal court yard all the courtiers’ heads were bowed

Stood behind them not one murmur could be heard from the crowd

Stood at a window now a young widow queen in black she was shroud

And a young boy who on the sight of his father screamed out - aloud

The warriors lifted their King upon to the grand hall table he was laid

Whilst the courtiers all then lined up and respects to their King made

Thereon the young King was carried into the privacy of his own room

Carefully stripped and was cleansed of the blood of his ripped wound

It was not soon long before gone - was the blood of a battle well spent

That you could see this gallant young King with whose body he had lent

To protect that of his people - his realm - his young queen and young son

For after this arduous battle this young life was now for "God" - undone

Washed with anointed scents - maids then plaided his long golden hair

His sword and shield ready and waiting - there lent up against his chair

A queen knelt beside her now young deceased King - in total utter grief

Visions of her fate and that of her son on the death of their clan chief

The castle remained silence with the darkness of the smoke filled night

In readiness of a royal Kings burial to be had in t- he early morning light

Next morning the same warriors who had carried their king home - arose

And loyally lifted their King with hearts constrained but ready all in pose

Out through the court yard passing all heads bowed up across the bridge

Carrying a young King up the hill top till they rested on the highest ridge

With weary hearts lowering their young King onto the ready funeral pyre

As his young son of just fourteen held the burning staff to light the fire

7 days were spent in mourning until the smoke of that fire was duly spent

And 300 warriors all ready and able their lives to the new young King lent

A queen stood watching as her young son and warriors left the castle gate

Thinks if avenging his own father death - would death also be his own fate

Indiana Shaw