With lighted lamp, in silent step she dared down hallowed halls.
Her lantern roused an ancient choir from the shadows on the walls.
With every note a moment’s bliss, a soothing serenade.
The music drowned the maiden’s dare in her evening’s escapade.
With lantern high, her will-o’-the-wisp, she lightly through the haze
Of holy dust that fought the rust on the tongues of scheming knaves.
The foreign airs guided her past the doors of collared men,
Their yellow bones and beads of stones knelt praying in their den.
‘Twas a wayfaring minstrel cast a spell from ’neath her room.
The strings of his mandola weaved a tender distant tune.
His words rose high on rhymes of love, kept her dreams afloat.
Held on to every verse he sang and hugged his every note.
Into the evening light she thawed to face the dwindling sun.
A knotted sheet held her wares, in her purse a meagre sum.
She ventured on the edge of time in her petticoats and curls.
Hastily down the hurried streets to the dreams of far-off worlds.
Dared not look back for fear of fear would capture her in flight.
In an air of apprehension, her heart raced to the night.
And into the darkness she maintained her one pursuit.
The distant light in the moonless night would guide her on her route.
To the harbour bound, to an anchored ship, her minstrel boy lay wait.
She feared in her hurried state that time would lose the date.
In panicked desperation, she lost the holy ground,
Would the pain of the hauling chain of the anchor let her down.
She collapsed in the blinding fear of all that she may lose.
The dim light in the distant night may once again refuse.
But this time to the hilt or nought she fiercely fought her way.
A resilience born from the pending morn, the chance of a brand new day.
Neath the lamp of the harbour night, her minstrel boy stood watch.
‘Till the boatswain cried, “All aboard; haul anchor to make wash”.
He sadly paced the schooner’s deck, in tears what they had planned.
His mandola ne’er again to play, for lost his maiden’s hand.
She stood upon the morning pier, her petticoats unfurled.
The falling rains of tragedy had washed away her curls.
Her broken heart no longer beat to a foreign serenade.
Her body cold and lifeless on the evening pier was laid.
Farewell to my minstrel boy, a dark farewell to thee.
Farewell to all the maiden’s hearts who ended up like me.
We’ll meet again one summer’s day when the cruel fates abate,
In the serenades of love’s crusades where minstrel boys lay wait.