The Queen's King

And he has never troubled her for favor,
or anything that would cause her brow to furl,
or begged of her bones to bend to discomfort,
or her eyes to well, in reflection of his quest.
He would just as soon melt into the sun
before he would suggest a single bead of sweat
and walk alone, through mud-filled fields
and infested streams,
and past the Demons in the bush--
focused on the promise of the pasture,
for this is the only way he knows:
short-sighted, secluded and strong;
stubborn and proud to a fault,
until blessed by the kiss of his Queen--
his load, lessened by her touch;
his path, illuminated by her smile;
his vision, made clear through her wisdom
until seclusion blends into the dark