You think you know the silver tale,
That drifts across the moor and vale,
Of crowns that break and vows that quake,
Of hands that rise from moonlit lake.
You think it speaks of only kings,
Of battle cries and shining things,
Yet hush awhile, let armour blur,
This song was always meant for her.
She dwells beneath the water’s skin,
Where reeds lean close and swallows spin,
A watcher set on silent keep,
A guardian in fathoms deep.
She weighed the worth of mortal breath,
She knew the bond of oath and death,
To Arthur, king the songs have made,
She broke the wave and gave his blade.
She waits there still where waters keep
The tides of time in secret sleep,
She keeps her watch, she bides her hour,
In cold clear halls of hidden power.
I went to find that whispered place,
Where moonlight touched the water’s face,
The reeds fell still, the night would wake,
And something moved within the lake.
2025 ©
The Royal Octopus 