The Sword of Naxus
This is poem, similar to my Irish Blarney ditty, which, originally anyway, was included in my magic and fantasy novel. But an increasing word count saw it chopped at the last minute. It's obviously Arthurian in flavour, but the message I think holds for modern times just as well.
Fifty Men against the League!
Kreskin’s evil axis!
But fifty men they knew to hold,
The sacred sword of Naxus.
Kreskin and his bloody crew,
Of Naxus they had heard.
A goodly knight, King Arthur’s kin,
Of good and kindly word.
But Naxus wore a jewelled sword,
On broadbelt round his girth;
A sword he wore through bad and good,
A sword he wore from birth.
Legend bounded town and dale,
And Kreskin in woods wild.
A sword so blessed with healing powers,
And curing man and child.
A sword which turned dead wood to gold,
And changed the dust to wheat;
Kreskin swore he’d take that sword,
And Naxus he’d defeat.
Fifty Men against the League!
Kreskin’s evil axis!
But fifty men they knew to hold,
The sacred sword of Naxus.
Kreskin he did trick the Squire,
‘Now run and fetch your Liege!’
Then Kreskin he did gather force,
And Naxus did besiege.
Though many of the evil clan,
Soon dead along the mile;
Kreskin stepped from wheat to see,
Brave Naxus’ deathly smile.
As Naxus lay now deathly pale,
An evil voice did rend,
‘May such power be ever mine,
To evil it will bend!’
But as he stooped to pick his prize,
An arrow glanced his face.
‘Not while Naxus has our love,
You’ll never take his place.’
Fifty Men against the League!
Kreskin’s evil axis!
But fifty men they knew to hold,
The sacred sword of Naxus.
Kreskin felt the dripping blood,
To Wildwood back did go;
With arrows swift upon his tracks,
From loyal archer’s bow.
Gawain his leader knelt and prayed,
For Naxus, kin of King.
He gently took the sword of life,
To safety he would bring.
But Kreskin once more gathered force,
With promise of the realm;
With many cohorts riding fast,
With Kreskin at the helm.
But Gawain the honoured Knight so loyal,
The last of Council worried;
Still vowed to save his Arthur’s Realm,
And to his duties hurried.
In Glastonbury Town that day,
Gawain he called a rally;
‘Now listen, men, from town and glen,
Our evil foes do tally!
‘They gather now in cohorts bold,
Along the Great North Road;
But we must march to meet head on,
Their sharpened swords so cold.’
Fifty men of Camelot,
With sword and cloak and shield,
Rode out proud to meet their foe,
To fight and never yield.
Such deadly war, such bloody battle,
Three days it did rage.
Fifty men against much more,
But valiant they did wage.
Then forty, thirty, twenty, ten,
And five and four and three;
Then Gawain to Kreskin he did say;
‘It’s down to me and thee.’
As Kreskin dealt the deadly bow,
‘Though Gawain had played his part;
Kreskin too he breathed his last,
An arrow through his heart.
‘Camelot is not a place,’
Came voice of truth but sorrow;
‘But love of Arthur which we hold,
On eve, on day or morrow.’
The lowly serf with simple bow,
No sword or cloak or shield,
Followed Arthur’s kith and kin;
To evil would not yield.
The sword of Naxus had no power,
As goodly folk did know;
Twas Naxus and his father’s love,
Which made the flowers grow.
No High Council left to guide,
With wise and loving Liege;
But Arthur, Gawain and Naxus,
Had each sowed a wondrous seed.
High and Mighty, lowly serf,
With palaces or nought;
Such evil that was Kreskin,
They must evermore be fought.
Fifty Men against the League!
Kreskin’s evil axis!
But fifty men they knew to hold,
The sacred sword of Naxus.
