the royal mind does not see clear,
As clearly as the magic eye
my lady sees the guard
soaring in the mighty sky
upon his dragon on the wind
the tears to dry on the eyes
of lady fair in her lair
Her bodyguard I would ransom,
with payment and a reward so handsome,
I mend the riven weave of Wyrd
the mending must be seared,
and not unfinished to be unmade.
The dragon is the body guard
his wisdom handed down the ages
of darkened years with fright and plague
he offers forth his mystical deeds.
Return her to the glade,
to secret places under shade,
her watch to be kept
guard and ward should not be swept
aside so cavalier.
The knight is not a cavalier
nor his actions come to question.
My Lady, is safely secure in the glade
hidden in the cove away from the main gate
the Dragon Master foretold.
He dug the entrance with his claws
the treasure to hide for decades
in his heart there beats the sound
of My Lady softly humming.
For how can dance wend on its way
if somewhere a charge falls prey
to woven spell, when the nap is stroked,
the weave returned and spell bespoke,
My Lady weaves the mat for him his treasure
to stow away, the golden hearted, treasured one
will fly another day.
Nay, say I! the needle thread
shall make the knotted nap to leave,
elf return, pixie sing,
flight of fairy around the ring,
make the heart to sing once again!
The needle thread holds gold for
the stitching to begin
she sings, she sings, once again,
the metamorphose complete
and the Dragon Master near her.