.
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.
.
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.
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© 1993, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
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(re-post of a Mayberrie poem)
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