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Old castle rests on brambled shores

near curling leaves and browning lawn

as ivy coils through empty doors

where once his golden sword was drawn.

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For long ago the tower stood

shaped by wind and gleaming stones

and from the chapel in the wood

they heard the bell and felt the groans

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of lovers locked in false embrace

of thunder scavenged from the deep

where only he could show his face –

his mistress turned away to weep.

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They could not march beyond the hill

for fate had measured out their time

and all they touched was cold and still

and none could prove there’d been a crime.

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A dozen years but none to save

for lovers no more ring the bell.

Calla lilies crown the graves

where once an army rose and fell.

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And now the castle sleeps on shores

near curling leaves and browning lawn

as ivy coils across the floors

where once Excalibur was drawn.

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©  1993,  2016   Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post of a Mayberrie poem)

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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Her shawl gleamed brightly

in the sun.

She wrapped it tightly

in the cold of silent villagers

and climbed across the pile of stones,

breathing in the salt

of dried seaweed on the sand.

Looking out across the bay

she saw the cliffs of Mayberrie

and farther still, his castle.

(Was he pacing every hallway

or would he get some rest?)

Nothing stirred

except for something light

that flashed atop the tower –

no doubt just a gull.

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The bandages around his head

gleamed brightly

as he took his leave

from rites and duty

fleeing court for solitude.

Up the spiral staircase

to the tower’s top he climbed,

and there he gazed

upon the sea,

and fishermen at peace.

Turning, he could see across the bay

to where her village rested,

tucked above the rocks.

Was she there or had she fled?

The beach was still

except for something light

that moved

along the shore.

No doubt just a gull.

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© 2012, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright

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(For a list of all poems in this series, please click on the Mayberrie tab above.)

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(Mayberrie series)

.

His castle rests on brambled shores

near curling leaves and browning lawn

as ivy coils through empty doors

where once his golden sword was drawn.

 .

For long ago the tower stood

shaped by wind and gleaming stones

and from the chapel in the wood

they heard the bell and felt the groans

 .

of lovers locked in false embrace

of thunder scavenged from the deep

where only he could show his face –

his mistress turned away to weep.

 .

They could not march beyond the hill

for fate had measured out their time

and all they touched was cold and still

and none could prove there’d been a crime.

 .

A dozen years but none to save

for lovers no more ring the bell.

Calla lilies crown the graves

where once an army rose and fell.

 .

And now the castle sleeps on shores

near curling leaves and browning lawn

as ivy coils across the floors

where once Excalibur was drawn.

.

©  1993,  2016   Betty Hayes Albright

.

Read Full Post »

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