Mead Hall Has Run Dry

Cerian Cantwr

We traveled to a far off land
To hear of mighty deeds.
Of monsters and of warriors
In a hall which flowed with mead.
We'd hear of epic battles
Heroes would live and die.
But alas my mug is empty,
The mead hall has run dry.

We sat in smokey darkness
And listened all entranced,
To alliterated glory
From a skald who’d lost his pants.
But though the story thrilled us
We still did sadly sigh,
For alas my mug is empty,
the mead hall has run dry.

One small but mighty chilled us
And filled us full of dread.
Fear the little scop of horrors,
And the frightening things she said.
What could prick our arms with gooseflesh,
Make our hair stand, make us cry?
Why, alas my mug is empty,
the mead hall has run dry.

A clown tried to make merry
As he capered through the hall,
With nimble footed tumbling
He tried to cheer us all.
And yet despite his daring leap
Through flames that roared so high,
Alas my mug is empty,
the mead hall has run dry.

At last our epic tale did end
We jumped about quite thrilled.
We looked back upon the work we'd done
And the boast that we'd fulfilled.
But though our hearts did swell with pride
A small part of us did sigh,
For alas my mug is empty,
the mead hall has run dry.

© 2011 Charles Grab

This page maintained by Cerian Cantwr, cerian@minstrel.com.