Thereupon a midnight shore came riding a man in silver mail.

From where he had come, none could say,

But all the camp looked to bay.

 

There the rider failed to speak a welcome, but shimmered like a sunlit sail.

For what was his purpose, few could wonder,

But all the gossip rose in thunder.

 

Did he bring a vast militia? Or ride alone here through the night?

It seemed that soon all would be answered, as he approached – to friend or fight?

 

Then as our leader met him firmly, all could see his great dismay.

For from his body, all strength departed,

And all his acting then quickly started.

 

Suddenly firm and princely again,

Our king rode back to camp, just him.

He brought reports of a rogue deserter,

Not covered in mail but in oil all over.

 

“From here he gets his kingly sheen,

Not from gold’s or silver’s glean.

Oh might I add, he doesn’t speak

A word of our tongue, so you shall see!

How dreadful do I find the law

That he shall enter despite his shawl.”

 

So thereabout half past twelve, the oiled rider humbly entered.

For why he was dirty, none could say,

But all the town scoffed in disdain.

 

And I myself got a good close look, almost turning to walk away,

When there under the hood of this man that stood just inches from my doorway,

I spotted something unexpected, for on his brow, bright bronze reflected –

A headpiece long neglected.

 

So I waved him in and cooked him beef and Sally cleaned him up for me,

And then we sat for hours and hours trying to communicate.

While apparently he didn’t speak a lick of common English,

He and I were clearly fine, as he listened through the kindness.

 

After rest, the rider readied to leave us in the morning.

But as he left I couldn’t help but ask for just one story:

 

“Tell me sir, if you hear my speech, how you came to shine.”

He looked at me and then I saw the glimmer in his eye.

For all was clear that all this time he understood my meaning.

The words he spoke I didn’t know, but he wrote them down for keeping.

 

“I come from south below your borders; from there is where I rode

Inside an oil tanker, without will but full of hope.

For such disguise was my only chance to make it past patrol,

And once herein I found a hearty stallion that I stole.

There since I’ve rode from town to town depending on goodwill,

And while I cannot crown you now, now someday I will.”

 

So thereupon a midday street rode away my friend.

Although he seemed unchanged to most, to me he seemed anew.

And while the people ridiculed his dusty wrinkled look,

I couldn’t help but smile down at my gift, his book.

Then as he galloped towards the gate, I heard him near the end,

“I wish all would have loved me, but now it’s up to you.”