The Queen of Bonne Nuit was a
tragic old soul with only the
riches of her name and a
title to which she clang.
Queen from a dreadful young age,
she threw herself into duties so vast
but her untrained mind could not
comprehend such enormity of state.
Her cottage on the highest cliff
surrounded by ferns and heather
sweet as the summer breeze
in which they swayed and shook.
Now this Queen of Bonne Nuit,
she had no father to show her
nor a mother to teach her that
this world is rarely so bright.
Yet she ruled without malice,
and took pity on those with less,
but maybe she should have shown
caution and guarded her back.
In the fortieth year of her reign,
the Queen did seek a suitor
appropriate for her needs and desires
to satisfy an unkempt hunger.
So the Queen did take a ride,
on her faithful dark horse down
to the bay where she took her
grand name of Bonne Nuit.
And there in the ocean’s light,
the Queen laid eyes on a lord
who seemed the very sort that
she would most like to court.
Her Lord was a quiet man
who spoke little of the lands
his family owned across the
way not far from Bonne Nuit.
His eyes were as broke
as the purse by his side,
but the Queen did not care
for she had fallen for this Lord.
Not a year did pass before
the Queen and her Lord
were married in the eyes of
her God and the subjects below.
But Lord Giffard was a foolish
old coward who had not
the mind nor the skill to
rule as the Queen did so.
And so one night he crept,
away from her cottage but
when the Queen did call out his name,
she met with silence known too well.
For this Lord Giffard had stolen
not just her heart but her
crown and precious jewels
and rode into the darkest night.
He built himself a wondrous fort
overlooking the bay of his birth
and cackling in the moonlight,
the Lord hatched his ghastly plan.
He sent a message to the Queen
who blinded by sorrow and grief,
accepted his pleas for forgiveness
without seeing the lie in his words.
The Queen did not hesitate,
she packed her bags and
blew out her candles,
locking the door on her rule.
She went straight to her stable,
and brought out her dark horse
which she rode with precision
down the paths to that Lord.
But the Lord lay in wait and
watched as the Queen cantered
towards him with her scarlet
hair flowing behind in the wind.
He drew forth his musket that
he had hidden from view
and prepared to take aim
as the Queen rode to her doom.
Yet as the malicious Lord fired,
the Queen’s dark horse did buck,
throwing her mistress to safety
and away from rushing death.
Apoplectic with rage the Lord
reloaded his musket and took aim
at the horse that had come between
his plan to usurp the throne.
Yet before the shot was fired,
the Queen appeared before him and
threw all her weight into pushing
the wicked Lord to his judgement.
He stumbled and fell to the
jagged rocks far below but,
with his last breath he called out
a curse that damned the good Queen.
That was the end of Lord Giffard
and the Queen never did take
another lover for the rest of her days,
she stayed in that cottage closed from the world.
She ended her reign as old as the hill
with not a son or a daughter to
claim as her heir and the age
of the Queen faded away.
Now her cottage lies in ruins
but you can still hear the sobs
of the one who sought love
but found only sorrow and pain.
And if you listen closely,
just hold your ear to the wind,
you just might hear the whispers
of her cowardly Lord’s last curse.
All is left to say that
time does not heal nor
take away the pain of
a life lived alone.