The Quest

by Maredudd Cymysglyd ap Cynan, Pencenedl, Ty Bondu

(A poem inspired by the Lady Morwen. I'm her bud! Wookub!)

©1997, Eric C. Smith

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An Intruduction


T'was Trimaris Tourney, Memorial week,

Anno Societatus twenty and eight,

(Thats ninteen ninty three by that Gregory geek),

on a fine summer ev'en fore it got too late,

When the questers set out for more drink to seek,

and a tale of renown was witnessed by fate.




Morwens Tale


When the sun goes down and the quest gets its start,

A lady of renown forms the parties heart.

For strong drink that quenches, the spirit restore,

Naughty baudy wenches and their quest for more!


When the questers called out, 'all mugs have gone dry'

T'is a state of despair to make the drunk cry,

But lads, we take heart, like the sailors they swore

And more bottles appeared, their mugs full once more!


When the moon was just risen, they called for faiths offer.

T'was alms for the needy, or at least the non-sober.

Of wine, beer, and wiskey they cried alms restore,

May the questers be praised, their mugs filled once more


When the questers resolve had fled with the best

Their steam taken from them by a long even's quest

A shoulder to rest on, no sound but a snore

'Til the morrow well rested, then questing once more!




Morwens Apple



Alms for the sober

Alms for the sort of drunk

Alms for the mostly drunk

Alms for the really drunk

Alms for the trashed



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