Upon a dreary gray hill
stood a valiant knight,
gazing the horizon, he looked for thrill,
thence came forward desperate screams,
startled, the knight rushed for the source, a little mill,
As fast as he could, he reached the premises,
entered, looked, therein stood a damsel,
enstrangled in the grasp of a man of vices.
The damsel yelled and for help she screamed,
the thief, distressed, pulled out a knife,
not a second did pass and the damsel dead was deemed.
Furious, the knight did scream:
"Justice shall be served, in god's holy will!"
His sword usheated, frantically did he march,
with likewise fervor so did the scoundrel rush,
and thus did the adversaries charge,
in a fit of mutual hatred and wrath,
and thence knight's throat was slit,
yet no sooner did his sword strike,
and thus finally the thief would justice meet.
The knight gasped for air,
ran out, swayed near a wooden rail,
that did he fall o'er,
crushed was his body, upon the ever-turning wooden wheel.
Wounded, the Thief for help did yell,
behind the knight did he run,
staggered and swayed and into the lake he fell.
He wheezed and shivered,
his hand leaping for god's denied aid,
his last breath exhaled, in agony he quivered.
The lake was red,
with blood and gore,
a hue of dread, life and death,
And all was quite and all was still,
,but for that ever-turning wheel.