Like Quixote de la Mancha
A Poem by Rev. Stephen B. Henry PhD.
Like Quixote de la Mancha he lays his heart down,
Breath caught in his throat, brow creasing with frown.
Rust the only crimson his tired sword knows,
From sea to the mountains, wherever he goes,
His dreams raise your banner and call loud your name:
Dulcinea — Sabrina — the sound is the same.
His tired old charger carries him on.
He rides chasing windmills from dusk until dawn.
He pursues dragons, saves maidens most fair,
In each village he passes he pictures you there.
When morning awakens he faces each day
Knowing forever he must go on this way.
Crossing the meadows and forests and streams
Living life only for night time and dreams.
He keeps chasing devils that reach out for his death,
They blind him and scar him and strangle his breath.
Torn, bleeding and dieing, he must struggle on.
Dulcinea will bind him. She’ll sing him life’s song.
He seeks out a castle, and knighthood, and fame.
He seeks Dulcinea — or is Sabrina her name?
He stands his sole vigil the lonely night through;
Come morning he’s knighted and then he sees you.
You’re standing before him, he lays his heart down.
Dulcinea/Sabrina, he touches your gown.
He looks up, he reaches, he touches your face,
And just for a moment he bathes in your grace.
You’re gone in an instant, he knows what it seems…
He knows that it’s madness, it’s only his dreams.
When he’s old and he’s weary and his days are but few,
He’ll call, “Dulcinea”, he’ll be remembering you!
Copyright © 1985 by Rev. Stephen B. Henry PhD.