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)