On a fateful day,
In the month of May,
A strange man walked into town.
He walked straight up to me,
And asked if I knew the Marquis,
To which I replied “He died many years ago”.
Looking puzzled and confused,
He sat down and mused,
And I left him sitting there.
I returned the next morning,
And said to him “Good morning,
Why are you still sitting here?”
He recounted to me his tale,
Over quite a few pints of ale,
The story of him and his lost love.
Lorna, he told me, was her name,
Her beauty was that of great fame,
But alas she had many rich suitors.
Unphased, though, he remained,
And when he was finally alone with her, he proclaimed,
His undying love and affection for her.
For a few minutes, she said not a thing,
Until, unexpectedly, she gave him her ring,
Symbolising, she said, that she’d already given him her heart.
One thing led to another,
And they soon began to kiss and embrace each other,
For the love between the two was passionate and strong.
They made passionate love until the new sunrise,
After which, she told him, while looking into his eyes.
That the Marquis was her brother, and only surviving family member.
He was immediately shocked and scared for his life,
For the Marquis was nicknamed ‘The Butcher Knife’,
Due to being such a cruel and horrific man.
Rumour had it, that the Marquis made a pact with the Devil,
For in witnessing torture and pain, he would revel,
And all those who’d stood up to him would mysteriously die.
“You must talk to my brother, the Marquis” she implored,
“Tell him of our love, and surely he will be in accord,”
“And allow us to be married before Summer’s Solstice.”
Urged on by his lover’s ceaseless requests,
He finally worked up the courage, a few days later, to address,
Her brother, the Marquis, ‘The Butcher Knife’.