The Armoury

A clatter in the armoury, woke every guard in Chamonix.
The king however slept in peace, on feathers plucked from little geese.
The moon shone bright that very night, guiding a half-drunk sleepy knight.
And down the corridor he raced, to find his key had been misplaced.

Another clatter behind the gate, but all the soldiers had to wait.
The key was not around his waist, he must have lost it in his haste.
For now the others broke in chatter, wondering what was the matter.
And “one last drink,” seduced the maid, and he was sure of getting laid.

Again that clatter not so far, now followed by a breaking jar.
Excluded were the soldiers still, as lock-picking was not their skill.
The king now twisted in his sleep, hugging his blanket made from sheep.
And now the guard was sent outside, this faux-pas scratched his soldier pride.

Albeit the clatter now had ceased, the knights were hunting for the beast.
In the dark they moved around, covering all the castle’s ground.
The half-drunk guard sat by the door, hands on his face while exclaiming a roar.
And then a cat jumped from the ledge, escaping quickly behind a hedge.