The chosen field is empty

Sir Mons von Goarshausen
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XLII

The chosen field is empty,
the place is dark and still,
So soon to be awash with
strength, ambition, power, and will!
Six rounds await our hero,
Companion of St. George,
A figure garbed in shining
steel, the best from any forge.

And here they come, his
rivals, preceded by the Sun,
The Crown so many seek this
day can only go to one.
Their battleground is fresh
and new, untrodden, soft, and green,
But struggle, sweat, and
streaming blood will make it less pristine.

These worthies come from
all the world, and many, men of name,
But none surpass von
Goarshausen in art, in skill, in fame.
The lightest-footed of them
all; his grace, his speed, his swing!
He fairly dances o’er the
sod to make himself a King.

And rapidly they start to
fall, a Mongol, and Lord Bjorn,
Until Lord Gunnar spins him
back—and leaves him slashed and torn.
Yes, he is wounded, though
he ‘fronts another puissant foe :
A Knight who might have
physicked him is yet the next to go.

And last of all he stands
before the deadly Portuguese,
This mighty fighter,
cunning, swift, is not dispatched with ease.
And so it is Sir Mons who
lies unmoving on the sward :
This gallant, brave in red
and black, has by a Bull been gored.

And who is she for whom he
fights who saw each blow and parry?
Who matched her partner,
step for step, exquisite as a fairy?
Who bears Diana’s crescents
(though her Stag remains unslain)?
’Tis Arianna’s courage that
absorbs his every pain.

No Coronet, no Wreath is
theirs, they have a greater prize :
And this the valor, honor,
love reflected in their eyes.
Their calendar may yet
include a Victory limn’d in rhyme,
For now, this pair will take
their bow and leave the rest to Time.

— Mistress Lavendar of Lorne

... received her Laurel for the Performing Arts (acting, singing, dancing, and theatrical productions). She has written fighter poems from the beginning and is gratful if their subjects are pleased with them.

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