O’er the hill he rides his steed
To memory’s eternity
Years past the deed
The children still whisper of his face
The lance, the chariot, the fearsome mace
The mysterious knight
Against the fading light
The dragons slayed
And the grateful maids
Send shivers of pleasure when again told
Those bygone chivalric tales of old
Yet sunset spells a specious cast
It was her, not his name, that should last.
RED GLADIOLA 