The Steward and the White Lady
High atop the eastern wall
stand two figures proud and tall,
one with hair as dark as night,
one with locks of golden light,
watching, waiting, wondering
what the coming day will bring.
What news will the future bear?
Is the future even there?
Maybe hope's already gone,
and their Enemy has won?
They can only wait and see,
blindly hope for victory.
On the eastern wall they stand,
two tall figures hand in hand,
silhouettes against the sky,
as the days and nights pass by.
Nought to do but watch and wait.
Is it already too late?
Did their friends and kinsmen fall?
Will the darkness cover all?
If there were some news, at least,
but all's quiet in the east;
all the world is oddly still,
now does that bode well or ill?
Something changes, suddenly:
heavy hearts feel light and free.
And their feelings do not lie;
soon they hear an eagle cry -
word of victory it brings,
borne upon the east-wind's wings.
From below the eastern wall
people see two figures tall
with their lips locked in a kiss,
celebrating newfound bliss,
while the wind plays in their hair,
mingling raven strands with fair.