Old is the style
of this poem,
Harkening back
to how long ago?
Yet despite age,
dear it is still,
telling stories
til' the day's end.

Golden rings and
greatswords once forged
are oft' remembered
on stormy nights.
Kings of cold lands,
kind maids well-sought,
in long tales low spake
are loved by all.

With such a past
we still forget;
few words are yet
found worth saying.
Language so rich
languishes now;
epics once told,
are left to rot.

Yet we may find,
as years pass on,
some who search still
for something more.
Tales are not all
taken for lost
by a few souls who
are bookish still.

So through poems
such stories last,
outlasting all
enemies found.
Bountiful feasts
and baileys old
may yet meet praise
amid yarns spun now.