Michael Wilbanks

The Lancer

Here walks the singer,
and the dancer of the dance.
He heralds in the song,
with lute and coin and lance.

Caressing the strings with ease,
his double sounding note,
Rings out to the nobles,
cuts ear and purse and throat.

Dare you look beyond his gold?
to the silver there encloaked
In the heart of his dance,
and the persona there invoked.

Could you bare his shifting form,
or those darting azure eyes?
Could you bare to see your heart,
become the lancer's prize?

Would you say 'there walks the singer,
and the bearer of the lance.
He marches off to song,
He marches off in dance? '
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