|You could have married a golden lord,
And bounced baby dukelings on your knee,
The service of his ancient sword,
Land, silks and jewels he promised thee.
I said you smelled of apple spice,
So you ran away with me,
Who had naught in the world,
but the wit of my pen and skill to draw what I could see.
A merry honeymoon my love,
On that stinking storm tossed craft,
You bathed my face and held my head,
And still somehow you laughed.
Instead of venison and wine,
You ate dry bread without frown.
As regal as a princess,
In your vomit spattered gown.
In the grey of early dawn,
You helped me stagger to the rail.
We watched the dragon's mating flight,
O'er the cliffs of Dugonal Skale.
I wrote of how the dragons danced our love,
And taught the singers of Dugonal Town.
So I paid the priest to hear our vows,
And for the hire of your wedding gown.
You laughed and smiled and hefted your pack,
When I couldn't pay for a cart.
Followed me half round the world and back,
And loved me with all of your heart.
All of those birthdays when I just gave you poems,
Instead of a good winter coat,
When you could have lived warm and full in a palace,
With bright fancy fowl on the moat.
While I was working you were restful and quiet,
Without bustle you saw I was fed,
When I was weary, you thief, stole my pen.
And chidingly led me to bed.
A bitter time it was for you,
When our only child you bore.
With no midwife that could speak your tongue,
On that far flung northern shore.
You and our daughter were fevered,
And no one there that we knew.
And all hours of the daylight to feed us,
I sat in the market and drew.
Gradually you grew stronger,
Though never as well as before.
Then your mother sent a handsome gift,
To the grandchild she never saw.
A blessing to your mother,
The gift and all that we had I sold,
I swept up you and our daughter,
And took you away from the cold.
You taught her your ways of being silent,
When I would write or paint,
But a bedtime without stories,
Would meet with a wailing complaint.
I wrote down the stories I told her,
Drew pictures that made her smile,
And the fat merchants children that read them,
Kept us a good long while.
Do you remember that early spring morning,
She touched a foal unicorn's nose?
Like her mother she was turning,
As fair as a sweet golden rose.
You could have married your daughters to princes,
If you had wedded the Lord of Stornfleet
Our daughter married a blacksmith.
Who worships the ground at her feet.
You faded from gold into silver,
But your hair still outshines any star.
Together may we still wander,
I cannot rest when you are far.
Your face wrinkles sweet like an apple
You have the eyes so joyous and free.
Of the girl who smells of apple spice,
And who ran away with me.