Camelot

She stood so proud; so tall and fair,
With walls of stone; a turret here, a tower there,
Rugged and white; strong and alone,
Strength and beauty - set in marble and stone.

Wondrous her halls; so full of light,
With rafters of doves; so graceful in flight,
Pillars and columns; bedecked in holly and gold,
Adorned with carvings; of stories yet untold.

At the height of her might; beyond compare,
With a thousand fields; that never went bare,
Paddocks of horses; all raring to go,
To gallop forth in company at horn's blow.

Her keep was hardy; an unshakable stronghold,
Doughty her men; like dragons of old,
Their shields were shiny; spears cold,
Tall were their helms; their stance bold.

Her townsfolk were goodly; helpful to all,
They loved all beings; both great and small,
Faithful and God-fearing; they answered the call,
And flocked to St. Stephen's; come winter or fall.

Seven levels high; the castle walls climbed,
Built with cunning, immense boulders aligned,
Cobblestoned streets; they winded up to the crest,
So wide & broad; braving seasons and time's test.

Atop the hill; and among the green,
A golden palace; for King and Queen,
Guarded by knights; known for chivalry,
At a round table; for the evening's revelry.

The warriors brave; a score strong,
Who fought on horseback; with lances long,
Hosts of forces; they commanded with care,
No matter the odds; they'd never despaired.

Brave deeds they did; and great reknown, won,
And knew not to rest till their quests were done,
Sworn to protect and succor the weak,
And flee treason; nor worldly battles seek.

The Excalibur-weilder sat upon the throne,
Noble his bearing; his goodliness grown,
Wise in judging; and unhastily roused,
Good King Pendragon; in Camelot he housed.

Merlin on his left; on his other, his Queen,
One a mighty spell-caster; other, most beautiful even seen,
Forever scheming and plotting, was, Morgana Le Fay,
So sing the minstrels; of when King Arthur held sway.

But alas for all good must come undone,
To folly they fell; each and every one,
For all of their prowess; the trap had been well set,
For even the best among them loved, what he couldn't get.

Thus began the war; a quarrel between friends,
Each wanting the Queen's hand; and refusing to bend,
Then came to fruit; the devices of Le Fay,
Too late for the good king; in Avalon, he lay.

Not much is remembered; of those days of yore,
Of Launcelot and Gawain; and the Knights' great chore,
Save in tales of faeries; recounted at children's beds,
And in dreamers like us; who relive them in our heads.