Upon the Bridge | A Nowak Classic

[Lechian Lord 1027]

 

 

Upon the Bridge

 

 

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In the shadow of the forest, where the moon refuses light,

Lies a bridge of olden timbers, shrouded deep in endless night.

There’s a tale the elders whisper, of a man who lost his mind,

Now the bodies hang in silence, where the crows and ravens dine.

 

He was just a humble peasant, till the plague stole all he loved,

With his kinfolk buried shallow, he sought vengeance from above.

He took to that old bridge, in the heart of autumn’s chill,

And there he strung up justice, with a rope to bind his will.

 

One by one, the guilty, felt the noose around their neck,

The lord, the priest, the merchant, paid for sins they’d not confess.

He watched them twist and struggle, till their breath was gone for good,

And left them for the crows, as any righteous peasant would.

 

So beware the bridge in shadow, when the wind begins to moan,

For the peasant’s curse still lingers, in the marrow of your bone.

And those who seek to cross it, with a heart of greed or pride,

May find their necks are measured, and the rope is waiting wide.

 

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The poem would posted along the road, marked with a bloody signature

 

 

[Caranthir_ 2533]

Baldrick came across the poem on the road. He squinted and stared. After a while he remembered he could not read, but he was sure that the poem would have been a masterpiece had he been able to.