La Mancha.




Bereft of the poetry of his soul

The knight took refuge in the house of death

Into darkness he went with his mind crushed

Wandering lust gone and with his own trust.


The enchanter gone

And disenchantment entered

And the land of La Mancha

Slowly turned to dust & cinders.


Talisman of allurements or of feasts

Chimeras of windmills or of fabulous beasts

Golden liquors and the shining decanters

Tales of poets sorcerers and of wizards

Adieu to stillness and the romance

Tryst and other typographical stance.


His merry madness had to go

And sanguine sanity had to be constructed

Don Quixote had to be demolished

And Alfonso had to be resurrected.


Alas! there is no poetry left now

In the lands of the Al Toboso

And no veils of Dulcinea now accrues

Across the knight of the mournful  rue.

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