Sir Gawain once rode alone
a long, long time ago
Seemingly unconquered
and yet in spirits low
Woe upon the worthy ones
who heed us when we pray
For when you thrive on fortitude
its splendor fades away
What comfort shall they find?
What greets them here but strife?
Do all who take a giant on
forsake their love for life?
Past a score of age I feel no wiser than before
What do I suffer for?

Gawain, he thought of perils
he’d vanquished for the peace
Not a conquest there could soothe
regrets and memories
Know the pain of mighty hearts;
as hardened as they feel
The least of scratches unto them
no mortal dares to heal
People call your name
they smile and they are gone
And all of them depend on you
but you depend on none
The sun stands very high, to split apart the sky
Oh, what a way to die!

Gawain, they said, rode safely home
they held for him a feast
Praised for all his virtues yet
not happy in the least
Tortured be the prudent mind
For every choice it makes
it feels the ripples spread in time
and tenderly, it shakes
Think of what it means
and try to understand
That those who will inspire awe
at times, will need a hand
Will you seize that moment then, to look them in the eye
and ask them how they feel?