The Lay of Mount Petite Jean

Canto I: The Tempest

The above tapestry was woven by my good friend Shadel : )

Read in landscape.

The Invocation
My Lord I ask you bless my ink and quill,
And move my mortal hand by deific will
To help me tell this tale of lovers' doom
As love did drive your son to seek his tomb.

And bid imposing task with sovereign nod
That feeble work of man might honor God,
And let my tale reflect how Christ atoned
That seeing others love we learn your own.

Canto I: The Tempest
Crashing of thunder and blasting of gale
Wrought by the tempest that currently rails.
Waves that are taller than mountains are high
Rise from the oceans embracing the sky
Falling from heavens with clamorous crash
Adding to sound of the storm as they splash.

Deafening sailors who work in the night
Dousing their lanterns and stealing their sight.
Beating their bodies with gust and with thrash
Stinging their skin like the cruelest of lash.
Throwing them down to the floor of the ship
Laying them low as it jarred and then ripped.

Many were washed from the deck and did fall
Down to the water where Dutchman did call.
Waiting for trumpet and final of days
Lost till their bid to then rise from their grave.
All who were left by a terror were grasped
Stoked by the lightning that randomly flashed.

Slowly they work till they're tired and worn
Badgered by tempest that still did yet bore.
Beaten and battered, wracked by the fight
Brought to the crew in the deepest of night.
Leaving them prone to the storm as it rails
Causing the bravest amongst them to fail.

Failing their task for the knowledge they lacked
Wrought by their sloth when the sailors had slacked
Heeding not captain nor orders he gave
Actions that surely have led them to grave.
Slowly their hope is now slinking from heart
Leaving them lost to the winds as it parts.

Knowing their fate is result of their sins
Fearing the price that's required at end.
Quickly they gather repenting their crimes
Hoping contrition would buy them more time.
Hunkering closely, to God they do pray
Asking that death that's at hand might be stayed.

Long did they wait for the heaven's reply
Seeing then only the storm in the skies.
Quiet as whisper and quiet as breath
Quiet as grave and those swallowed by death.
Silence now fills them with deepest of dread
Fears of the answer now filling their heads...

Suddenly figure appears from the bowels
Humble in frame but refusing to bow.
Jean was the name he was known by to crew
Smaller than rest of the men he was grew.
Slightest amongst them but hated the most
Few were the friends of which sailor could boast.

Still he was steadfast in tasks he was grant
Giving his all though his praises were scant.
Learning the work that a sailor performs
Striving though met with greatest of scorn.
Ever he's faithful to captain of ship
Man who is laid in his cabin and sick.

Wracked by an illness that suddenly came
On to his body his strength did it claim.
Sending him down to the deepest of sleep
Down to a slumber that's restless but deep.
Brief from his bedside had Jean now yet stole
Out to the deck to the sailors he goes.

Acting as proxy he goes to his work
Fighting the rain though its stinging did hurt.
Bracing himself to the hurricane's roar
Challenging winds as they ripped and then tore.
Slowly progressing on task in the night
Braving the tempest that solely he fights.