A musk and dank, settled over the hay strewn floor
Drunks danced and revelled with the whores
Who bared their souls on their bosoms
In the dark heart of the night.
In corners with thieves and murderers
Conspired a lonely page.
Ibrahim, full of rage and lust whispered in a poets ear
Words that he longed to hear.
The golden queen, upon her throne,
Was his for the devouring, her love un-known.
The news filled our poet with thoughts of heroism
A new found prospect, a muse, gleaming and pure.
Ibrahim’s pulse raced in his chest,
His hand on his purse, the place he loved best
next to his Josquin; but that was reserved
for a lowly maiden with golden curls.
The bard, Landrou, now on first name terms,
With his betrayer, regards him as a true friend.
A man is stabbed in the heart as the cockerel crows
But Landrou thinks only of his golden rose.
He is to wait one week and return
to visit her, to quell his yearning
and taste a queen.