Ellie and her knight

My mother's birthday is coming up and she requested a collection of some of my latest poems as a present. So this morning I was trawling through the mess of my computer documents (I'm a very messy and disorganised person when it comes to my filing systems, both real and virtual). To my great surprise I discovered part three of "Ellie's Poem," which I do dimly remember writing...but which I hadn't particularly liked and didn't want to use.

I read it again and, actually, I really love it now because it made me smile on a day which has been a tad depressing. You know, one of those Mondays when you stumble from one household task to the next, zombie-like, unable to muster even the smallest hint of joy, for no apparent reason, and then you feel guilty because things aren't so bad so what's your problem and why are you complaining?

So I figure that if the poem cheered me up, then it might well cheer some of you up too, if you too are suffering from the Monday blues.

I think this will be part three now. So part one is this one, then part two, and I suppose that Elzebeta Marionetta's letter will now be part four.

ELLIE’S POEM / Part three

The knight then began
To think of an answer,
Drumming his fingers
On Ellie’s soft comforter.

He looked at the ceiling
And then at the floor,
Cleared his throat several times
And counted to four.

With one hand Ellie held him,
Using the other to pat
Octavia Myrtle
Her tortoiseshell cat.

The knight then stood up
And started to pace
Back and forth on the blanket
And her pink pillow case.

He clasped his two arms
Behind his straight back
And mumbled quite gruffly
And his knuckles went “crack.”

Watching him,
Watching him,
Watching him closely,
Ellie’s brown eyes
Began to close very slowly.
Her upper lids drooped,
Then her eyelashes met,
Their two framing lines
Forming a soft wavy crest.

You know how a wave breaks
At the very beginning?
When it starts to near land,
Water sparkling and spinning?
Well....
That’s how her eyelashes
Looked to the knight,
At that darkest hour
Of sleeping delight.

Now Knight paced on her hand,
And it was his perception,
That freckles of sand
Made her glowing complexion.
And the moon at that moment,
As if knowing Knight’s quest,
Arrived at the window
And came there to rest.

The knight watched amazed
As the moon lit the black
With milk and some cookies
For a true midnight snack.
Knight then sipped warm moon-milk
From a thimble-sized cup,
And he nibbled a cookie crumb,
All the time looking up.

The moon never moved,
It just watched him enjoy,
And said “Chocolate chip’s good,”
And “You’re such a good boy.”

“I know that you worry
About your true quest,
But it’s late and you’re tired
And it’s better to rest.

In the morning you’ll rise
And all will be clearer,
You might even have grown
A whole half millimetre.”

With the hope of this change
The knight lay down his head,
And his small milk moustache
Left a white kiss
On the bed.