Originally published in A Sealions Tale April 95
After I had won the Hammerhold Ceilidhe I decided to try other bardic arts and turned my hand to poetry. I very quickly named my muse Day-Late Daisy, because she always seemed to hit me with inspiration the day after the bardic competition. Most of the verse se inspired in me has gone the way of all doggered, but one poem remains.
In the time since the poem was written I have both picked up and laid down the sword. It has also been quite a while since I’ve seen cloved lemons at Meridies revels. Non-the-less the humor of the poem remains fresh, so I herewith offer The Viking Skald’s Lament.
I hite Finn Normansson, kind folk assembled here,
and I’ve been in the S.C.A. now for the past few years.
There’s one thing causes me distress, so I’ll ask, if I may,
why is it no cloved lemons are ever passed my way?
I know I do not fight, which might explain the odds,
For hansom men in armor must look like Roma gods.
But I’ve also seen non fighters get lemons by the loads,
and some of them, to tell the truth, are uglier than toads.
So I said unto myself, “A skill is what you need,
Something to make people take note.” I said brewing mead.
My brewing skilled become quite good, ‘tis praised throughout the land,
But still no cloved lemons were pressed into my empty hands.
I thought, “The mead is good, but I am still unknown,
I should have a performing skill.” I started writing poems.
I’ve performed before the King and Queen, most gentles like my verse,
But still cloved lemons passed by be as if I had a curse.
I thought, “No lemons yet? My cloths just might be why!
Plain tenth century Viking tunics can not catch a ladies eye.”
So I became a cavalier, in velvets I was dressed,
And still no cloved lemons received. Is it maybe my breath?”
I’m forced no to conclude, I shall be this way for life.
The only one gives me cloved fruit is my fair wife.
I ask not for a great affair, or tumble in the hay,
Just once, could some other lady pass a cloved lemon my way?