and the slowly dying chatter
as everyone headed to sleep
signified the curtains-close
of that day's night in this Kingdom.
The gates were closed at sun down
and stories would be told
well into the night.
The children were always first to sleep.
Then the beautiful strong women.
Then the old men
would string tales
and wove riddles
and play with words.
The servant men mingled with the noble
and everyone was in high spirits.
They would sing and dance around the fires
and every one was super merry.
It wasn't a tradition
but the King wanted to repay their efforts.
The harvest was good this fall,
and the food would last them a year.
There was a new sense of commitment
in the whole kingdom.
It must have happened after
he appointed the custodians of The book of poetry.
Poetry that had been told through the ages
in this Kingdom had been compiled
and written into a book by young men
suggested and brought forward by the council.
Scholars.
They were diligent
and highly knowledgeable
of the things and ways of the earth.
This book was then blessed by the King
and put in the hands of these custodians.
They were meant to protect the book at all costs,
and, I think I heard the King say even with their lives.
A huge bargain, that.
And they were required to read it aloud
during the end of festivities like these,
inside the King's chambers
when everyone but the counsel and Your Highness
went to sleep.
It was like a spoken lullaby, not sung.
That's why the King was particular.
Only poems that were sweet to the ear
and musing to the soul would be read.
& that was all of them.
The poets took their work seriously
and went out of their way, often times,
to stay in tune with nature.
It was a perfection game
they kept getting better at.
& the King was always impressed.
These words were like honey
that tore sweet through your tongue
and won principality wars his sword
had never seen.
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