Outside the fire-lit circle the lowly scribe did thrill
                                         As in the ring of brightness, poets brandished quill
                                         They spoke of epics bold and brave, lyrics torn with strife
                                         And deep in firey ashes, their Xena stirred to life

                                         The smoke did billow, flames grew high, the Warrior took form
                                         Silence fell, while in the distance came the rumbling of a storm
                                         The figure glowed above them all, the poets lay prostrate
                                         She smiled to see them lying there, and with voice so great,

                                         Said "Rise, my speakers silver-tongued, for I shall never die,
                                         While I hear your words proclaim our tales to furthest sky
                                         Well has thrived the legacy of bardic Gabrielle
                                          It is safe in worthy minds, Peace be yours, farewell."

                                        The storm did rage aloud and fierce, rushing near at speed
                                       And from its depths with rider borne, there burst a golden steed
                                       Gabrielle aloft on Argo, soft the smile upon her face
                                       With panther spring the Raven-haired one took her rightful place

                                       Above the neigh of Argo, a sound both fierce and shrill
                                       Familiar war-cry stirring blood in veins vital still
                                       Ethereal the winds did blow, the giant horse surged on
                                      Thunder rolled and lightning burst far in the distance - gone

                                      Shaken, stunned, and black with soot the people slowly stirred.
                                      Eyes were seeking, cautious, yet nobody spoke a word
                                     Above the skies now clear in night, a trailing star did flame
                                     The poets, turning homeward, vowed in joy to 'duel' again

                                     The scribe watched them depart, lay upon the grass and sighed
                                    With pleasure, to have witnessed the mighty Xena's ride...
                                    Great deeds never cease to be, as long as they are told.
                                    So "long live the Epics!", and the speech of poets bold.
 
 
 
 

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