Camelot
followed a winding path
that took me from the streets
to a misty morning
where the greens
wink with dewy diamonds
and the trees whisper, “Hollow”
round the bend
the crows are ever-watchful
of who goes forth
as they strut across the lawn
in tailored tuxedos
down the way
little birds bathe
in left-over rain
before winging away
as a yellow butterfly weaves
between the papered trees
at the crossroads
no turning thought
a bridge of wood beckons further
as castles in the distance
rise and fall
trees are swaying
but none so fair
as the one with locks of hair
that weeps
and brings me still
to the center
of somewhere
far from here
TL