Sing up, my golden cock, and I will feed you grain

On it goes. I have been reading German verse a-plenty, usually in goofily rhymed English translation. From this, I have gleaned poems by topic, for to spice the tale of Iwein and his lion. Predictably, most of them are about love, so I must still search for poems of jousting, storms, evil dictators and lions. If only I could find a poem about a stormy beast who slays an evil dictator with a lance! Argh. I have a nice bibliography of music sources and have begun to search for settings of my chosen verses. But today is labor day, and so I am blocked from laboring. Instead, I am at a cafe, watching the cool people walk to and from the totally cool Bumbershoot festival, from which we hear the nightly roar of adoring fans. (Oh, to be a rock star! If only people called out for medieval German song like that!) Also the impotent rage of some bum who Leared it up in the general direction of the poor baristas just now. There are lots of crazy homeless people in Seattle, I'm sorry to say.