On bended knee
I bow, madam.
I have charged over hills,
my helmet gleaming,
and fought heroically
in the madness of my love for you.
I have galloped hard
and leaped high walls,
your name bleeding down my chin.
I have sung your name to the stars, madam,
sonnets torn from my heart,
as I rode toward the sky
on my stallion.
I have served you well, madam,
a worthy knight-errant
with shield and lance
and have kneeled before you many times,
these blistered hands held out
for your touch.
But you would only nod, madam,
or look in back of me at a friend
across the room.
or a picture on the wall,
or you would read a book,
or turn away as if I wasn’t there
and never see my eyes
adoring you.
I bow, madam,
bruised from falling off a windmill,
from dreaming in the sun too long,
from waiting all these breathless years
for our hands to touch.
And now, madam,
as I turn to go,
don’t curse my desperate grabbings
at the air,
don’t sneer,
but look at me as one
who in his foolish way
fought hard for you.
Farewell,
madam.