Idwal and Liadan

He was a knight whose armor knew no chink,
A mighty man of word and deed.
She a maiden gone beyond the brink
Of his weakened armor the seed.

Perhaps the knight needed the maid,
Perhaps the armor would have peeled,
Perhaps, then he could have saved
Her, and been for her a shield.


The King’s right hand, a mighty man,
Firm, with fires deeply hidden,
Ne’er lost, nor without a plan,
His words followed, though unbidden.

Rarely speaks the silent knight
When the round room rings with words.
Yet from others his words alight
Like so many perching birds.

His counsels known to all though he
Speaks not in the king’s round room
The invisible hand of Idwal see
The outcomes carefully groomed.


A trusted friend to many men,
A knight of lords a prince,
Though hero in a lion’s den
His heart no danger wince.

No danger, save that from behind
When knives so deeply sting,
No perils worse a man can find
Than those which friends can bring.

Laidan, well, she was a simple girl,
Who loved many simple things,
She liked to wear skirts that twirl
And the joy that sunshine brings.

Liaden, maiden, don’t lose heart,
Lose not now the friar’s art.
Fair child, wait, look for the day,
Hope, dear heart, come what may.