Love Song for the Poetically Challenged

“This song was written for my wonderful husband, before he was my husband, and is also for the Baroness Elspbeth of Bridge and Ralph the Carter. It has, in its time, become an anthem for fellow Sunflowers of the Apocalypse.”

You can listen to the tune right here….

Oh she’ll hang me
then she’ll boil me
and she’ll cut me in half thrice
if I cannot speak
some whisper sweet
that will somehow come out nice

for my love is not a dainty rose
but is hardy, tall and strong
like the golden flower out in yon field
feeding birds the winter long

ah my love is wise as the bonny trees
all gathered in the wood –
not that skinny dancing willow she
but the grand old oak so good!

Oh she’ll hang me..etc

Oh my love is not the dancing wave
that flits along the shore
but the giant rock of the ocean cliff
that stands forever more.

I have seen the love of many fair maids
though none so brave and true –
Dear, if I wanted just the fairest maid,
I’d not be in love with you!

(the Lady replies)

Oh she’ll hang me
then she’ll boil me
and she’ll cut me in half thrice
if I cannot speak
some whisper sweet
that will somehow come out nice

Oh I’ll hang you
and I’ll boil you!
and I would cut you in half thrice
but you have not said
one single word
that was not fair and nice

You say I am strong as the sturdy oak
that flimsy I will not be,
nor a sweet and sheltered fading rose
that the sun will never see!

True, the fairest maid may not be I
of those across the land,
but my love for you is of solid rock
while they are grains of sand.

So I’ll hang – your coat
and I’ll boil – some tea
and the new bread I will slice.
Now give up for me
thy poetry
here just come and kiss me thrice.

So I’ll hang your coat
and I’ll boil some tea
and the new bread I will slice
now give up for me
thy poetry
here just come and kiss me thrice

So give up for me
thy poetry
here just come and kiss me thrice.

so give up for me / I’ll give up for thee
thy poetry / my poetry
here just come / I’ll just come
and kiss me thrice / and kiss thee thrice.

Words and Music ©2003 by Monique M Bouchard, known in the Society as Aneleda Cytheria Falkonbridge.

 

Angus, Build a House for Me

Written for Angus Pembridge by Aneleda Falconbridge after Spring Crown Tourney AS 46.

Listen to it here…

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

Your knowledge broad is what I prize,
and your gentle laughing eyes.
The words you whisper in my ear,
I beg you, be forever near.

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

A simple life beside the stream,
work both honest and serene,
a waterfall to grind the wheat
and you to make my life complete.

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

A rooster dancing in the yard
shall sing to rival any bard
a cow for milk, a sheep for wool,
such modest things make my heart full.

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

Sawdust and the scent of pine
your rough hands encircling mine
on your workbench beneath the stars,
marveling at what is ours.

 

 

So there’s a really lovely person many know as Master Angus (Kerr) Pembridge (or perhaps His Excellency Baron Angus Kerr). He is clever, and kind, and has a merry sense of humor, which may be his best trait of all. While joking at Crown Tourney, there was a comment tossed about having (or not having) an Aneleda-written song, and likely a smart one tossed back about it as well – but as I was missing the court procession at that very moment, I don’t remember the details because I had to run! (Bad champion! No cookie!)

Anyway, I started thinking of this house-building, mason-loving, ever sweet Laurel who is so beloved of our Thanet household and well-respected, and thought, you know, Angus *should* have a song! And the song agreed, and came to me a little vision of a golden-haired northern maiden standing by the sea, telling this gentle man her dreams of life with him and his gifts in domestic rural bliss. It mostly wrote itself, because the pictures were vivid, and since I was a little car-crazy by then, I pulled off the highway to a nearby beach where I pulled out my trusty macbook and recorded the sea, and the song. It’s a present for Angus, for always keeping me well-entertained at events when I see him.

And also, for looking after all my stuff when I toss it in front of him and run.

And finally, for totally agreeing, without hesitation, that I am, indeed, a delicate flower of the northern army.