Once In Camelot

The girl on the hill
runs across the fields of my mind
strewing flowers on the parchéd ground
lost in Camelot
where the mighty King must weep
for love betrayed.

She holds a basket
of secrets
dewdrops gleaned from distant clouds
long since passed upon the breeze
and lets it open for me to see
I reach to touch
my hand’s too numb
I cannot
grasp.

She sings a song I’ve heard before
in some forgotten dream
of some forbidden time
the verse is new
the meter blank
I want to sing
but breath is
out of tune.

She stands there blushing
then skips away
laughing in the gypsy wind
rushing to the castle
beyond the ridge
beyond my view.

I sit alone
pick up the flower she dropped behind
innocently on the dust
and a dewdropp trickles down the severed stem
like a tear that stings the heart.


(Previously published in Potpourri, Dec. '99)

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