13th Century Planh (Troubadour Grief Poem)

This year, the following Laurel Challenge put forth by Grim the Skald: 

"Write a poem in a discretely period meter and a context appropriate to the poetic form. The form can be from any time or culture within the SCA period, but must be used in away that is appropriate for that cultural context – i.e. if the poetic form is only used with natural allegories then you need to use a natural allegory. Similarly the subject can be of whatever you chose, but must be appropriate to how the form was used in period. SCA specific subjects (SCA History, awards, etc.) are explicitly allowed if used appropriately, but not required."

The poem I wrote was based on a 13th century planh which is a grief poem or lament for the dead.  I decided to lament the year lost to COVID.  

 Here is a link to me reading the poem:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/16RfpVZUdukD7xnYA7_nghR1cMo7Op5Mc/view?usp=sharing

Here is my poem:

The Spring grants blessings to all that is green

Raising even the lowly grasses high

Life all around us struggles to be seen

The azure dome stretches across the sky

Yet I know not how to find verdant bliss

And my heart knows not how to join the song

For my love is gone and all is amiss

The plague has changed what was once right to wrong 

Though the world has turned from Winter’s cruel frost

And spun around to face Spring’s pure gaze

Though new born leaves dance spinning and wind tossed

And the sun on water does spark and blaze

I will find no joy in the birds’ rich choir 

Nor will I take pleasure in fields of gold

I will wail and weep and call Spring a liar

Bereft of comfort with no love to hold

My sighs as cruel as blizzard’s freezing gale

My tears as cold as Winter’s icy flakes

My body weakens, withers, I grow frail

My wretched heart with each beat slowly breaks

There is no life to spark within my breast 

For oh my love has been taken from me

His gentle hands in mine no longer rest

For the plague tears apart all we can see

No more do his eyes shine bright with love’s spark

Nor do I feel his soft touch on my face

No more does he sing, my dear meadowlark

Nor do we dance in love’s sweet embrace

For the plague keeps him from my loving arms

Tis nothing I can do to draw him nigh

Not honeyed words nor woman’s magic charms 

Nor fervent prayers nor songs sent on my sigh

You dank and wretched plague, why have you come

To keep me so far from my soul’s delight

Fiend you have stripped me of all I have won

Turning the bright Spring to darkest of night

A pilgrim’s path you have placed me upon

How far have you thrust my beloved away

There is no day without his light to dawn!

There is only night without his loving day!

Oh, I weep in time with the dripping clock 

For there is no Spring in this horrid year

I have no key for my joy to unlock 

If my dearest love cannot join me here