His white lips open
As all gather in,
The lady, magician, soldier
All long to hear him.
"The sword is gone
The cup is smashed,
I must find more"
So he left the cosy table
And went to the lake-
It was too murky
Mists surrounded it.
"Who are you?"
"It is I"
The beautiful woman
Her eyes grey-green
Like the Irish sea
Gave him it.
But that was long past
And we cannot know now
How it slices. We cannot taste
From the cup- the crack
Is too deep.
All we know is
If he did not die
He is still living.
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