Mist filled Mornings
First thing in the morning
When the mist covers the South Downs
I wonder, is Merlin walking those hills?
Hidden by mists of his own making
Looking for something
Anger, frustration
He strikes the ground with lightning
This breaks the hold on his mind
Yet the gate shuts as fast
Half remembered thoughts lost
He stands, supported by the rock
As the sea rages towards his fragile mind
His magic could not sustain
The beauty of his dream
Kingdoms made; round table broken
His love vanished with magic stolen
The golden bow with arrows spent
Lies in his hand, its target long forgotten
His mind will not recall the legend
that he made…
©anitadawes 2020
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