When I was a young boy, I once had a book;
Through bright coloured pages and pictures I’d look.
There were white knights and black knights and kings and princesses
And ladies at court in their long flowing dresses.

There were vagabonds mingled with merchants and traders,
And castles assaulted by hooded invaders.
With ramparts and moats that encircled great walls,
And boys stealing apples from market place stalls.

That the white knights were good, and the black knights were bad
Was the total extent of the knowledge I had.
In each duel they fought, I was thrilled to the core;
For the fate of the black knight was certain and sure.

What a wonderful feeling to think, if I stood
On the side of the bold and the true and the good
And swore my allegiance to country and king,
I’d be safe from the threat any black knight could bring.

Now the years have passed on, and my rose coloured vision
Is blurred and obscured by the sword of division.
So through a glass darkly, and try as I may,
I see all the knights in a dim shade of grey.

I still see the vagabonds, traders and thieves,
(Though often the difference eludes and deceives.)
Whilst kings and princesses still hide behind walls
Now hooded invaders transpose to house calls.

But all who have fought and all who have died
With banners of courage and truth at their side,
Have seen in past glories their stories predicted
As scenes from my childhood pictures depicted.

The bright shield of honour upholds its ideals
And gallantry spawns on its moral appeals.
Have you not heard his voice in the depths of your heart?
The white knight of valour . . . he still plays his part.


Top          Truth          Home