CISLUNAR DHASANT: THE CITY OF GARGOYLES

The Cheerful Challenge
Eyvan Kedric Majarra (Matteo Harpwright)

The other day I heard it said:
"A witch's hair is always red."
"Who reads it, then," I asked aloud
which drew a laugh out from the crowd.

The priest he scowled with blackest ire
and said, "You dolt, it looks like fire."
"I see," I said, "and what a sight
To use a maiden like torchlight!"

The priest glared down a stir of mirth
which my remark had given birth.
"No, no, you fool," he cried in rage
near shrieking as he tore the page.

"A witch's hair is red, you ferret,
like the feathers of a parrot!"
I shook my head in sheer delight
"Why then," I said, "she couldtake flight."

His face grew pale, his eyes sprang tears,
and I (so wise before my years)
Ran laughing from the center square
As I exposed my copper hair!

Your eyes grow so tired
The lights are bright
So let them drift shut now
And sleep well tonight

The walls are as curtains
The street a warm bed
Just lie yourself down now
To rest your soft head

CHORUS:
The days are so restless
The nights are so hard
You're always together
And never off guard
You can't seem to dream the night away
You can't sleep in the coming day
You plead with darkness on your knees
To grant you just a little peace

Your soul is so tired
So weary your bones
Go off to your bed now
And rest there alone

The gods of the evening
Will grant you one boon
So close your bright eyes now
And rest until noon

Softly fall her raven tresses
what's beneath them no one guesses
(or thinks upon, her gaze represses).
To match those eyes she caref'lly dresses
In silks and satins, lace and leather
and on her head there's not a feather
(of sense). She says none will forget her
(or the tavern where hem et her).
Her scent is sweet as pine and rose
and so it should be, heaven knows
(since in the bath for days she goes)!
Her mystery is but a post÷
a posture, no, a shameless act
each word she speaks is full of tact
(unless it's to a maid). In fact
with every man she's made a pact
to meet near heather, elm, or fern
(the maids would happily see her burn).
In truth, she gave me quite a turn
but what she'd teach me, I would learn.
Death took a bride last Lammas' day
(and such an unexpected way!)
She still was tumbled, one might say÷
run over by a horse and dray.