DAYS OF YORE
Gather round while I tell you of stories long ago,
When knights in shining armour true valour did show,
Saving pretty young maidens from dragons so bad,
Rescuing all people who were oppressed and sad.

I have been around old castles where knights did dwell,
Something I don’t understand, cannot comprehend well,
Although there were halls and bedrooms closets for brooms
Kitchens, dining rooms, nowhere were any bathrooms!

Was everyone all smelly? Tell me, please tell me do,
Were there rows of privy’s instead of a proper loo?
Even when I was small, my granny had an outhouse.
And in the ice cold of winter everyone did grouse.

Sitting in a mighty hall with flags hanging on the walls,
Jesters performing acts, many servants in the halls,
Were they happy bands together enjoying a good life
Or were most of them full of trouble and strife?

I’ve seen dungeons where folks never saw the light of day,
Seen wracks and chains and spikes all so cruel in everyway,
And turrets built so high with no way of escape at all,
Except to be set free or in desperation jump to a deadly fall.

So which of the tales shall I tell you of the days of yore,
Knights in shining armour, or prisoners locked behind doors
Of pretty maidens needing to be saved, all rich and well fed,
Or the surfs and peasants who don’t even have a hard bed?

Sometimes we paint the past with a much better view
Than the facts we should tell, truth subdued by a few
Historians who live in a land of part truth and make believe,
So when we search through history, let truth be set free.

M Ann Margetson © August 17, 2001