The Fall Of Kaira Ap Karai

In the hills of ancient secret Wales
Many tales are told
Legends of Knights and High Kings
Both mighty and bold

On the moors of England great
Many stories are said
Of knights all clad in emerald green
And dragons all in red

In Scotland in the highland north
Sung are songs of lore
Of great warriors with mighty swords
Ranging from shore to shore

And in the lands of the Old Norse
Told is many a tale
Of Beowulf’s forceful command
And Grendel’s dying wail

But though such tales exist a plenty
Forgotten are many more
Consumed wholly by unjust fires
And society’s rising roar

Such is the fate of the tale I bring
Of Kaira Ap Karai
Who on the plains of Wales once fought
Only to fall and die

A woman of passing strength
With valor imbued
Clad in raiment of flowing white
Her continence dark-hued

A faithful wife and mother
Was her dutiful role
Eyes as deep as midnight raven
Hair as dark as coal

But fate is a much furtive thing
And her death lay on a sword
Riding upon a great dark horse
In the armor of her lord

For one day her husband was injured
And their castle was beset
And dark knights stood beneath the walls
Crying for their challenge to be met

For to slay each babe and woman
Was the threat they cried
Unless the Lord of the manor
Came and willing died

Then Kaira took her husband’s armor
Whilst he slept in a swoon
And went out with her face covered
To meet and greet her ruin

Knightly indeed she looked that day
Clad in silver plate
Atop a mount as darkly as she
To embrace her foreign fate

No enemy saw the truth of her
As lances were swiftly set
Nor as she rode unfailing
Nor as her fate she met

Many then she slew that day
Gifted with some sacred might
That bore her aloft and made her strong
And drove her in the fight

But at last her charge was ended
Her lance shivered to naught
And the maid who seemed a man
Was fatally and wholly caught

A spear was driven to her breast
And felled so was her steed
And falling she lay upon the grass
Left to lie and bleed

And cackling the enemy abated
Thinking their enemy dead
Unknowing he would rise again later
To stain their own garments red

For soon the true lord of the manor
Did awaken from his faint
Finding no wife to ease his healing
Or hear his sad complaint

And once he was healed he rode away
Clad in armor broken and stained
Going to fiercely avenge the death
Of the one whom yet remained

And so passed Kaira into deep death
Falling to the fate that was worst
Riding boldly into her last stand
Which also was her first.