Last Christmas at the feast at King Arthur's court
a monstrous figure entered dressed head to toe in green.
With a wicked blade in his hands he challenged us,
"Would the bravest knight take sport in an exchange of blows."

Arthur rose first but I quickly took the axe.
I could not risk Guinevere being left alone.
With one fell strike I cleaved the head from his shoulders
and had assumed myself free from reprisal.

But the courtiers' cheers quickly became cries,
as the corpse rose covered in its crimson.

"Gawain", it spoke, "seek me out in a year's time.
Come receive my blow or be known a defaulter."

The allotted time has passed.
I stand before the Green Chapel.
This is my last chance to turn back.
Though I appear resolute
my soul is uncontrollable,
like forked lightning down my veins.
Trying to escape the fate
of this doomed knight.

My king, I will not falter now.
I will leave no trawpe un-honoured.
No man will brand me coward.
If the Green Knight shall take my head,
then so be it...