A poem inspired by a legend of those blue little flowers, the forget-me-nots.. with my own twist, of course. ( ;
This is the longest poem I have ever written so far ~ The words couldn't stop flowing.
Forget Me Not
A knight and his lady
Walking the cliffs of a river…
He wracked his mind for the
Speech he planned to deliver.
He just came back from war, you see;
Brought peace to his land.
Now he's ready to settle down -
Make her his, marry her grand.
He stopped their walk amidst
A patch of blue blossoms.
She looked at him, and he was lost –
In her eyes he was numbed.
With her eyes urging him on,
He bent down to the ground
A handful of blue flowers
His gloved hand found.
Yet the world was against him
As a strong wind blew.
He was knocked off his feet, rolled
Down the cliff, into the river blue.
The lady gasped, her legs failing
As she sunk to the ground.
Her eyes were wide,
Tears fell, warm and round.
She saw him struggling, his eyes urgent;
His armor was too heavy.
He couldn't swim, you see;
He was no navy.
With his last bit of strength,
He raised his gloved hand
And he threw the blue flowers,
Their petals hitting the sand.
"Forget me not!" He cried,
And his head disappeared in the water.
The lady looked on,
Her heart was in shatters.
"My lover, gone so early!"
She mournfully cried.
Her salty tears fell
Showering the blue flowers beside.
Shakily, she got to her feet;
She took off her silk slippers.
Down the cliff she went,
The place filled with her whimpers.
Her bare feet hit the river's shore,
And through the sand she marched,
Her feet were determined to
Reach the blue flowers parched.
With a shaky hand, she
Grasped the bouquet.
The petals were vibrant,
No signs of decay.
She laid her head down in the sand
The bouquet she held to her heart.
She turned her gaze to the river
Where her lover lay, depart.
"Forget me not", she whispered
As she faced her death.
Her heart was too heavy, stricken,
That she breathed her last breath.
For those that later found her said
She looked like a blushing bride.
With her dress and bouquet
They deemed her married to the river's tides.
But the flowers she held to her chest
Spoke of their story, never to be forgot,
For they are now what we call