Marrow Bones

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In thought, upon his iv’ry throne,
in courtly robes sat Marrow Bones
with hateful grin from lack of lips
he clicked his bony finger tips.

Into his fleshless kingdom came
four riders seeking wealth and fame,
when through the dry-bone dogs they rode,
were dragged from horse, except for Bode.

The youngest of the four, by far,
he ever sought a chance to spar
and held his own ‘gainst larger men
with nimble foot and acumen.

With three before him, prisoner,
the Bone King called his best augur
and bade the corpse be quick to find
the one the dogs had left behind.

With dash of grave dirt in the font
the augur stirred with finger gaunt
a shifting image soon appeared —
a cloaked and huddled figure near.

When Marrow Bones had ridden forth
to seek the rider, augured north,
Bode, having draped a hedge with cloak,
now swam the moat with stealthy stroke.

On inner bank he spied a guard
patrolling that lone stretch of yard
and sneaking up, on tips of toes,
removed the skull, and felled his foe.

In tattered corpse-cloth garb he slipped
into the castle-turned-to-crypt,
but seeking out his fellow men
he lost his way, now deep within.

Through dusty passageway he crept
into a chamber princely kept
with tattered tapestry of gold,
fit for a king, though worn and old.

A royal chamber, he was sure,
for under dust shone such grandeur
that Bode, compelled, set fear aside,
as thoughts of treasure filled his mind.

His wand’ring gaze stopped, mid-delight,
eyes resting now on arms of might:
a three-foot sword with black steel blade
and coat of mail, exquisite made.

Thus fairly armed he set about
discovering the proper route
to seek his bound companions three
and northward to their village flee.

With umbrage Marrow Bones returned
from Bode’s deceit, his ire earned,
the throne room echoed thund’rously
as Marrow Bones paced furiously.

He stopped and faced the riders, three,
still bowed before him, on their knees.
He hacked them, empty cloaks and bones.
Deceit, again! His prey had flown!

The Bone King, made the fool again,
began to howl, a dreadful din
till silenced by Bode’s stealthy swing.
Now headless stood the Marrow King.

The riders three from hiding crept
for now in peace the dead bones slept.
The castle, once in endless night
now basked in beams of gold sunlight.

Bode sat the throne, black sword in hand
now master of this blighted land.
The riders three, to honor Bode,
spread tales of glory as they rode.

Now Bode, as he lay rest the dead,
retained the crown from King Bone’s head
and placing it upon his own
paid last respects to Marrow Bones.

Adventures, more would come in time
perhaps one day I’ll pen those rhymes
but know this, you who read this Ode,
once Marrow Bones was just like Bode.