In a puddle of her sweat,
Poepi huddled, not dead yet,
Around her not a sound made more,
As she stayed there on the floor.
For many minutes she did not move,
Or make a sound or feel the groove,
Of the floor stones cut beneath her.
After some time in the ether,
She raised her head and looked around,
Barely breathing with no sound,
Dared to utter from her lips.
Finally, she raised her hips,
And wondered as she hunched alone,
Where now has the giant gone?
She wandered round the chamber dark,
Lit by red of torch-flame spark.
Seeing no one else come near,
She was about to disappear,
And quickly flee this dangerous hall,
Before the guarding grim Reywal,
Returned to find her huddled down,
Scared and crouched and low to ground.
But then a sound, clear and dear,
Reached her disbelieving ear.
The sound was faint, a jingling,
And delicate, a beautiful thing,
Yet in an almost a frantic tone,
Of sad, condemned and being alone.
Around the chamber, Poepi walked,
And listened to the jingle talk,
Until, close to the exit door,
The fading sound became no more.
Slowly, slowly, with growing hope,
Poepi returned where jingle spoke,
“Oh could it be, oh could it be!”
She whispered over-eagerly,
For as she neared the Giant’s chair,
The jingle louder sounded there.
She snuck around its massive base,
And the sound revealed a place,
Behind a hidden closed locked door.
It was wide and no more,
Taller than a holiday tree.
She pushed and pulled deliberately,
On the handle straining bent,
But the door did not consent.
Poepi quit and in dim light,
Stopped and searched for sound or sight,
Of click or lock or hole or more,
That would help her open the door,
But finding no such entry in,
She stood baffled, and puzzled within,
Just how to follow the sorry sound,
So that the jingles could be found.
Looking at the stern black eagles,
Shaped upon its metal handles,
She smiled and knowingly shook her head,
“Here’s to luck” was all she said.
With two hands, she pushed them back,
Until the door swung wide a crack.