Knights, silent stepping through the grass
Bearing the body of their fallen king
The air strangely quiet as their shadows pass
Even the birds have stopped their wabbling.
Reaching the marshy edges of the lake
Laying their burden gently in the boat
Handing the black-clad Queens inside
Loosing the painter, settling the lonely craft afloat.
Bevidere kneeling, his grief on his face he plainly shows
Murmuring prayers for this his childhood friend
King of All England undefeated by his foes
Now brought by magic to untimely end.
His body borne by water to the Isle of Glass
And thus the prophesy of Merlin comes to pass.
Poem by Ann Jones (my mum: in memorium)