In bygone days I might have been called a Bard
The title’s good but the job’s too hard.
My lord would give me bed and board
So that all his actions I would record.
Before his guests I’d perform on each feast day
In poems and in songs his deeds I would relay.
Whatever had happened in the recent past
I would rhyme into verse and perform it full blast.
And if my lord was called off to war
Then one thing was absolutely certain sure.
I’d have to follow him at great speed
So I could observe and record each noble deed.
He would battle fiercely and give cries of delight
I’d cower quivering in abject fright
For he’d have a couple of swords that were sharp
And all I’d be armed with would be a highly strung harp.
Author notes
Another oldie written in the year 2000 following a flattering reference to me as the local bard when introducing me at a Folk Club.
Baildon is now my home town.
Comments
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Funny
But like you said the job is too hard and dangerous. Too many sharps and flats.
Jim
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I avoid the sharps but I cannot avoid the flats. I live in one.
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