! ! Poem For John Around The Camp-Fire

Arthur with all his knights around sleep the sweet sleep of time under the green hills of Avalon; this we believe; this comforts us. We’ll call them when we need them.. unless, the sharp cold dark night-mists of time make men forget to spell their children’s minds. And not only knights, they say, but all his court, to rise at time of need; poets, singers, clowns and wise men too; all sleep the sweet sleep of those who know what waking is. Tread the green hills of Avalon on a balmy summer night and the faintest sound of horse snorting in its sweet-hay sleep should send you back to tell the tale to those who must one day know just when to wake the sleeping court before it’s then too late: wake, golden; spurred; invincible like truth.