The Wanderer’s Song: A Tale of Yore

 

A Tale of Yore: The Wanderer’s Song


In lands where shadows stretched so wide,
And winds did whisper o’er the tide,
A wanderer roamed with heart so drear,
His steps were light, his purpose clear.
Through woods of oak, where time stood still,


And meadows kissed by autumn's chill,
He sought a star, his guiding flame,
A beacon bright, devoid of name.

Upon a hill, so high, so steep,
Where ancient stones their vigils keep,
He paused to gaze on realms below,
Where rivers danced and moonlight glowed.


“Lo!” quoth he, “What dreams may dwell,
In yon fair vale, where echoes swell?
What secrets hide ‘neath nature’s guise,
In silken mists and azure skies?”


The night grew deep; the world grew pale,
As he did weave his mournful tale.
“Once I had kin, a hearth, a home,
Yet now I tread where wild beasts roam.
For fate’s cruel hand, in shadow clad,
Hath stolen all the joys I had.
My father’s sword, my mother’s song,
Are but faint ghosts, where I belong.”


The stars did glimmer, soft and cold,
Their light a balm for hearts of old.
The wanderer sighed, his voice a plea:
“O mighty heavens, hear thou me!
Grant solace to this weary soul,
Who treads alone, without a goal.
Let not my grief consume this frame,
But forge anew a brighter flame.”


The winds did rise, a tempest bold,
And in their grasp, a tale retold.
From out the dark, a maiden came,
Her eyes alight with starlit flame.
“Fear not,” spake she, “For hearts may mend,


And broken paths may find their end.
The earth doth turn, the seasons shift,
And even sorrow bears a gift.”


Her voice, a song, so sweet, so rare,
Did banish night’s oppressive air.
The wanderer, with heart anew,
Did take her hand, and thus they flew.
Through realms of gold, through skies of gray,


Through fleeting night, to waking day.
And as they walked, the world grew kind,
Its harsh embrace left far behind.


No longer lone, no longer lost,
The wanderer learned what grief had cost.
For in his pain, he’d found his might,
And in the dark, a clearer sight.


The maiden’s words, like seeds, took root,
And from despair grew hope’s bright fruit.
So hand in hand, through life they roamed,
Together bound, together homed.


Thus ends the tale of yore and lore,
Of wanderer’s heart and grief’s uproar.
A lesson lives within this rhyme,
That even loss may heal with time.
For though the road be fraught with woe,
And shadows linger where we go,
The light of love shall ever shine,
A guiding star, a gift divine.


#OldEnglishPoetry #MedievalTales #Wanderer #HopeAndHealing #TimelessPoetry #JourneyOfTheSoul #PoeticStorytelling #Resilience #LoveAndLoss #ClassicPoetry#oldenglishpoem

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