Continued from A Poet’s Story #1

So when the king knocked the door to my cottage,
I sneered knowing he’d not not come,
To sign up my four year old son for war
But just for a mother’s pride..
A concern that never can be quenched,
I hid my son under the bathroom door
Where he would be stepped on and not trampled

The door, it naively gave in to his advances
And there I was to be next
Upon his roar I fell on my feet
His gaze burnt my brains into nothing
I calmed my heart as his lips met mine
And parallel to the ground we went
On the grass mat my mother gifted my wedding
He made me forget he killed my rose
And yet my son remained,
To be nursed to a knight
I wished to kill the king
But the sword of his lips pierced my heart….

To be continued…