The Queen of Bonne Nuit

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. 




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