The Count of Nevers

Quite the proper gentleman you made yourself to be, oui ou non,

Hervé of Donzy?

Usurping the count

and picking up a prize bride as well.


You must have thought that all ramparts would fall to a finely timed violence;

that with gold bars on your standard

you’d drive the infidels from the Holy Land.

Yet not even a dozen crusades could dislodge

those who considered you the infidel,

and ignominy was your only plunder from the far-off Nile delta.


One other never you did achieve, though.

Your massacres in the south of France.

The langue d’oc never to return

nor the Cathars with their message of brotherhood.

Andy Oram
September 12, 2023

More poems