Old Sestina

Written for a class.
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Over the crested hills rose the sun,
The golden rings stretched long before
The countryside peasants had time to wake.
Across their land, traveled night
Who, into the horizon gracious fell,
And his tendrils of blue escaped to the sea.

Those who traveled sought
To tend their land, impoverished sons
Who in their landless debt fell
Upon the feet of kings to be, for
They lamented the long lost nights,
Their sorrows kept them long awake.

The kings would rise, hearts awake
And through their royal haze did see
The coming of the colder nights.
And on their horizon, stood the sun
The answer which lie before,
And to their feet the king fell.

The lamentations the people felt!
The sorrow that tormented their wakes
The strain to be, for
Each kingdom that sought
Each sweet, rising son
Knew nothing of their valiant knights.

The tired, restless knights
Who were made, no, fell into
The trappings of the son.
The knights, awake
Who forever sought
The kindred childhoods before.

And such long roads, before!
The gallant knights
Who with tired eyes sought
And with weary feet, fell to
Each stumbling mire, a wake.
Each desperate man, a son.

The knight roamed and sought onwards,
A wake which fell to its knees—
Before the son would rise again.