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