There sits a man, or perhaps a bear
he's clad in crimson, brown and black
only a fool would coax him to attack
Yet all he does is sit and stare
Perhaps in his heart is crime and guilt
He waits out here for just one woman
He looks as hurt as a behemoth can
His dearest, mangled, by daggers hilt
His dearest helpmate on his mind
That fateful act three weeks ago
just how he feels, none can know
To his loved one's fate, he seems resigned
That long ago, on tower's high
the fight was theirs, it went too well
was then his trusted lover fell
brought low by a cunning, wretched spy
So now he sits outside the ward
he sits, and waits, and nothing more
He's simply staring at the door
and prays his lover be restored

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