There is nothing worse than an empty box, 
let alone an empty tomb.
Who did it belong to, where are the remains?
The writing didn’t help much
Ideas have been lit.
The monk’s thoughts are running like a forest fire.
The Abbey is bleeding money
The townsfolk have even less
They need something to get the two together
Soon enough, the tomb is cleared away
It had never existed
The monks dig close to a large oak tree
stories start flying like the plague
Giant bones are found of two people
The male bones seven foot, the female, 
six feet with the remains of red hair
whispers became a loud call for the Abbey
People came from miles with copper in hand
To see King Arthur and his Guinevere

© Anita Dawes 2021