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The Candlerbury Tales

March 23, 2008

This was the result of a Chaucer-style assignment in Senior English back in 2008.

And with them there walked

though he seldom talked-

as no one dared even look

upon one whom God forsook,

a Man with a tunic worn,

He had arrived late, in the morn.

His demeanor was reserved,

and his blade was curved.

But no knight was the man,

his sword wrought in a far-off land.

Excommunicated, was he,

convicted of heresy.

Why he traveled to Canterbury Abbey

Knew naught we.

Perhaps he sought the Lord,

as with Satan he’d struck a chord.

I talked with him little,

as I trudged in the middle,

and he in the back.

When he did speak,

our party’s curiosity would peak.

He was a scholar, through and through,

but for us, his ideas were quite new.

He spoke of death, he spoke of strife,

of suffering and life.

The man cared naught for the law,

and said “death is the road to awe.”

He strove to better humanity,

but the Church had denounced it as vanity,

of faithless men good in deed,

God has no need.

He sought purpose, said he,

to understand the world was key.

A wanderer, I would say,

his eyes always seemed far away.

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From → Poetry

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