The Ward

I pause in silenced thoughts while I coax
the weary embers that sulk in the kitchen hearth
to study your features which are calm now as
you enter your third day of slumber.

how I wish you would stir.

fever clings to you with a mercenary grip,
yet you battle its hold with a most curious strength.

herbs and tonics I have tendered upon you
chanting in earnest prayer while you murmur
irrationality in weakened reply.

show me the bright boldness of your hazel eyes;
tell me of your quests and glorious journeys.
I will you to wake and breathe in the dampness
of this very morning's air.

I keep you as my ward, dark Armel, until
the malignance that crushes inward subsides.
I will bathe your brow in cool waters and
sing to you of the meadow's dancing winds.

arise now and partake of this humble broth and bread,
drink of my wine and speak to me in foreign tongue;
and when you grow strong once again here in
this poor thatched hovel, you may take your leave

or you may dwell here in my love for a spell longer.

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