Stuck outside, bored all on my own,
winter chill right through to my bone.
Heat spits out from the lantern torch,
horse rides up to gate, the medieval porch.
'Halt, who goes there?!' I automactically sigh.
'Who said that?' Demands a booming reply.
'Ah its just you, a lowly guard,
Its me, Lord Sir Prince of Chard'.
'State your business, Good Kind Sir.'
'I'm here to see the Princess, to make her purr.'
Clomping off in her scented direction.
Codpiece covering his rattling erection,
dismounting his horse with a loud clang,
ready to mount another to bang.
Later he rides back with a smug grin,
yes, we all heard her filthy wailing din.
Splashing me with mud as he gallops past
again covered in mud, this stain will last.
The joys of the life I lead,
sod it, I'll have another swig of this mead.