The sun still shineth on this here fair day, as poor Maiden's thoughts do drifteth away.
To a time gone back on which she was sworn, on another Knight's love from which she was torn.
For years he kept her hidden away in a room. Every day she waited, inside this living tomb.
Praying that this be the day he came for her well, and no longer her love, a secret not to tell.
But alas, he did keep to his old, brood mare, who kept fortunes running and brought decent fare.
Alas, poor Maiden, only love and youth could she bring. No pence were offered for the songs she could sing.
Knight promised of't he'd come for her one day, but Maiden could not wait, lest her hair turn to grey.
So Knight turned her out to the streets on her own, where she wondered about, as she had no home.
Strangers offered poor maiden a place to stay, for they knew she had no pence for which to pay.
They accepted few services of which she could bring, and reveled in all the songs she could sing.
Poor Maiden has wrote many songs from this pain, and wonders if Knight ere thinks of her again?
Poor Maiden paints as the sun rises each day, and prays for a knight who will love her one day.
June, 4 2021 (poem written years prior by Joy Chapman)