Poem -
Camelot
Yellow mustard flowers trampled
into sand that is undying
.
Men that fade into blue jeans
Rifted and worn into holes
Life set into a mist and rain
Hanging like a dead fairy
No pretense at opposition
Can a war victim be a hippy?
Lady of the lake my dear
Hurry now and interfere
King Author is delayed
Comments
Beautifully crafted poem.
Barry x
Thank you Barry for taking the time to read it and comment. Much appreciated.